Some days,
poetry pours through me
like sun
pouring through trees.


Some days, I am
a vessel
for an other-worldliness
that must come to shore.


On these days
I itch with light,
sometimes wishing
to be done with it:


to get on with the housework,
the children that need tending,
or papers that need grading.


But what can I do?
I am rooted to paper,
gathering gold armfuls
the Muses give to me.


                                                                                                       ~Lindsey Bellosa