Waiting for the Muse

Why is it that i hold myself back...
The wind is piercing-
Chill cuts through to my heart.
I am bewildered ...shaken.
Thoughts assail me -
but the grace to put them down
passes me by...
The printed word... the symbol-
you have made them... draped them.
They are ever so much in your thoughts-
haunting you,
wracking your very core.
Isn't there anything
more spontaneous-
that wells up from depths
or wafts down from rarer heights...