She stands in the town square
Concluding her intercession
She closes her book.
Looking to her left, her right
The people continue on their way
Eyes fixed in palms.
She holds her book
Like she held to the memories of an unrepentant lover
A lover named The People.
Yet, her gaze fell upon a person
10 feet, off to the side
Another person, sitting 12 feet, diagonal.
A child here, a woman there
She gazed upon them, practically invisible to the crowd
Yet distinct in their weirdness.
The Muse beckoned and each person gathered ’round.
She smiled upon her tribe, and told them her secrets
Of showing up. Of hope. Of love for the art of being human.
Person. Not people. You.
The Muse thanks each person for helping her with the lesson.
And they laughed and learned and shared their artistic gifts
[Poem #30 of 30. Image by Barkaw via Flickr and a Creative Commons License.]