Not Lost: Unfound

There was the road
edged in winter-thin shadows
from a moon
gibbous
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

perhaps

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.

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