I worked with Arland.
I saw him often.
He would tell me
Inspiration was his friend.
He could shake hands with it.
He could put his arm around it
while sitting and waiting for a bus.
He could wake up at night
to find it lying beside him
or sometimes hovering just above him,
but always near.
And when he felt alone,
Even forlorned,
Inspiration would embrace him.
Tip his chin
Ever so slightly upward
until they were eye to eye.
Then it would slap him on the shoulder.
They would share a laugh
and he would know he was saved.

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