Same game new players

In a flurry of relocation
Hasty and half-assed
The letter struck me
Your gift

Seems long ago
to have illuminated the game
The game played between poet and muse
A game of circular logic
Where the foolish win the prize of fools
A sweeter prize
Then those with wooden legs
Or heavy hearts could dare to dream

And today when asked if I fancied myself a writer
I thought:
Do you fancy yourself a muse?