My Muse

My muse holds a magician’s top hat in the spotlight,
busks on a street corner playing with fire,
pens sonnets in the corner of the coffeehouse.
He disappears in crowds as I arrive,
and I pursue him to no avail
through the trail of illusion, through lingering tones,
through words scattered in my path,
through his vital force imbued in the air like ozone.

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