My mother is immortal;
Erato, a Greek goddess,
a muse who grants inspiration
to those who seek her.
She spreads wings of gold
across the streaks of sunrise,
and grabs my childlike hand
as she soars beyond the heavens
to the stars that scatter the galaxies
with white bursts of nuclear inspiration,
shock waves of ecstatic art,
and supernovas of rainbow explosion,
like colors splattered across a canvas,
words spread across a page.