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.
OTHER POSTS IN THE SERIES
- [poem removed by author]
- Meander
- In the hotel with thin walls and the name of a poet,
- Close Reading
- Soul Spa
- The difficulty
- Museum
- Gnosis
- When we speak through a medium
- Whatever it is
- Synecdoche
- Uncle Frank warned my father
- Suddenly
- What can you hear in this downpour?
- Cursive
- Fantasmagoria
- Sketches for a Genealogy
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