Lost Muse Poem by Patti Masterman

Today for the first time, I heard the old poets voice,
Reading once more, and forever, his treasure;
Heard each syllable fall lightly at the end
His voice deep and sinuous; a human
Perception trailing the frailty of his words
He spoke again; but what I heard inside of it
Was a faltering soul, weary but still heartened by his
Hard won song, words set down to the meter of his beating heart,
behind which, he could not see me from where he was
Could not fathom that some day I'd be watching
Through the incalculable squalor and mystery
Of times intervening years; would not,
No; never know how much
I loved his writing, and how
I followed along his every word,
As if it were my own course,
My own offering; and if once
Only, I could return there
I would point him in
The direction of
Heaven and
follow along
behind him
and his
proud,
brave
quavering
voice