This entry is part 2 of 19 in the series Morning Porch Poems: Summer 2015


Before the road was a road,
where did it know to go?

How did the arrow
find its nervous trajectory,

and what energy did it gather
from the bow?

Follow your bliss: enter the bright-
lit cafe or museum doorway.

Some maps clearly mark
the exits we need;

others sport ink blots
in the shape of stray cats.


In response to an entry from the Morning Porch.

Series Navigation← [poem removed by author]In the hotel with thin walls and the name of a poet, →

One Reply to “Meander”

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