When I Met My MuseI glanced at her and took my glassesoff--they were still singing. They buzzedlike a locust on the coffee table and thenceased. Her voice belled forth, and thesunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, andknew that nails up there took a new gripon whatever they touched."I am your ownway of looking at things," she said."Whenyou allow me to live with you, everyglance at the world around you will bea sort of salvation." And I took her hand. William Stafford
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