The weather was unusually mild, and I
Was on my way to fetch a child. I stopped
To gather my tattered wits about me
And failed to stop entirely. The off-ramp
Somehow led me back of the parking lot,
Back of beyond, through a turn in junipers
And straight back on to the interstate again.
What could it possibly mean, to have been
So distracted that I kept going smoothly
And arrived at my destination in time?
You know what I want you to infer. The road
Can never be abandoned while we ride it,
And we might as well carry onward as rest.
Maybe. Maybe I just made a witless mistake.
Maybe witlessness and insight are the same,
Not because witlessness is wisdom, but
Because neither is wisdom. The same.
Although there are no equivalencies, actually,
And all seeming samenesses are off-ramps
Through the back of beyond and straight
Back onto the freeway again. In the event,
The weather up north was grim by the time
We returned, but the child and I were grinning
And the house was warmly lit when we walked in.
No comments:
Post a Comment