Not Lost: Unfound

There was the road
edged in winter-thin shadows
from a moon
like my expectations
destined to wane

a dark mood and heavy feet
guided well enough
by reflected light
for the moment

I felt the metaphor

hurt and anger leave
glowing footprints
cooled too quickly for
those who needed to see them
to follow

but there’s no tracker among them
and in time, they will starve

chaos finds rhythm
in each step
in ragged breaths
invisible crickets
in city silence

Athena’s owl echoes
my footfalls,
a symbol of wisdom


Wisdom is the driest wine,
but we dare not let the cup
pass from us:
by the time we feel our thirst,
we are well past need.

Screen Shot 2015-11-25 at 1.22.59 AM
Photo by  Robert Hayden, and the inspiration for the poem.

It is easy to forget,
when you are human,

that it is the oldest bricks
that last
that hold you up
for better and worse
the perfect perpendicular
and those chipped, tripping you
and those worn
from pacing the same path
too many times
the heat of anger
of shame
of passion
of passing close to the sun
time and again
hardening what was muddy
what was a mess
into our edifice
of soul.

It is easy to forget
that we are divine

and our foundation is
no matter the ramadas we build
to shelter ourselves from it
no matter the armadas we marshal
to protect it
from the world and ourselves
no matter the doors closed on it
with a jarring slam meant to
force forgetfulness;
the fact remains that beneath
darkness imposed,
we shine,
and it is in the darkest night
that stars are brightest.