Elizabeth Gilbert: A new way to think about creativity

i hear the crushed music of underground springs -
the shifting patience in tense unlit candles.
sound becomes meaning.
i decode the world.

listen.

a muse morphs into a tree;
her sighs become sap and
the china thin skin of her ear fuses
through veined leaves against the sun.

awareness uncurls from its tight rest;
verse weds unceremoniously to verse.

coming close in contact with my consciousness,
things change. they aren't made better,
just made mine, if only for how
they have
changed me.

what i acquire leaves my hands open,
open eased empty and
what comes to me moves through me,
moves me, stays briefly
moves on leaving
deep imprint - its tracks like
the underground spring crushing out
its song.