I glanced at her and took my glasses
off–they were still singing. They buzzed
like a locust on the coffee table and then
ceased. Her voice belled forth, and the
sunlight bent. I felt the ceiling arch, and
knew that nails up there took a new grip
on whatever they touched. “I am your own
way of looking at things,” she said. “When
you allow me to live with you, every
glance at the world around you will be
a sort of salvation.” And I took her hand.

Analysis, meaning and summary of William Stafford's poem When I Met My Muse

2 Comments

  1. Carolyn says:

    This poem made me smile with understanding. The goosebumps are gone, but I smile still. Lovely!

  2. Alison says:

    This poem stopped me in my tracks with its power and simplicity.

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