Muse of Silences

songstress, soundless
to pluck her plum
to swallow the grape
that bursts with ecstasy
in your throat
her hair strung tight
then undone
so nonchalant

not the end of the strum
that interests us
but the breast to which
the vibrations are held
and from the world of sound
-- soften
then cease
their existence
from the wooden column
of atmosphere and time
uncarved

most museful one
marvelous, inquisitive
into the fecundity
of unanswerable questions
sends the one that sends
us all mad, on fire
with answers that will not
make the burning
stop