Sitting through a chemo drip,
you wonder.
With the news,
the marriage, the child, the job,
even just this ordinary day,
you wonder.
Where is this going?
Cities have maps, but not so with friendships,
or prayer, or aging, or the world
There are no signs, few landmarks;
even the goal might be vague.
Nevertheless we go,
under a different kind of guidance.
We do not know what something within us—
within us being among us—
knows.
But it knows.
The poet begins, and only gradually
does the poem reveal what it wants to say.
The tree reaches down its roots, blind.
The stormy petrel takes off for shores unseen.
Under the frozen river,
the water knows the way.
__________________
Steve Garnaas-Holmes
Unfolding Light
www.unfoldinglight.net
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