She followed the trail like braille.
She bound bending turns by feeling.
A long journey, kneeling and frail.

Was there always one cloud
in the sky?
Do the birds in one direction
fly?
Who can see beyond the shroud?

She left the footpath
And listened to songs
in the wind,
Toward the home
of the homeopath.

Arriving, no one there.
Time took a moment
to stare.

She must be out.
She must be there.

Beyond: a sign of being.
She must of left a note
for me to be seeing.

No one ever came.

But a dusty mirror shown:
One blind human alone.
Then, she was healed.

What is soft?
To what do we yield?
Can it speak our language?
Is the barrier translated beyond the breakage?

Just then, a birdie sat beside.
And, the bird and I need not share.
We just sat and stared.

Until it flew again.
And I wondered,
if both our minds were bare:

Could I be up there?