Sing of passions greater than the self,
Intimations turned to words and music,
X's on eternity, revealing
The genius of one's muse, if one would use it,
Yielding to a voice beyond the gulf.
Even so, one is forced to wander
In search of that sweet touch of inspiration,
Grace that does not come without one's calling,
Hours, days, weeks of fierce frustration,
Then the gift to which one would surrender.