The world combines
and also scatters
as leaves blow
and flowers wither.
The road
descends into countless paths
all leading to the same proverbial city.
what roads
and who walks on them?
The stone are ancient
and their cyphers
echoe at the press of footsteps.
The scruples
in my shoe
hurt as each foot
places itself before other
The way commodious
but the same direction.
the cobblestones
with cliqued mortar
for we believe
in our personnel goodness.
For the lamp
of your words do not
surround me
and in the darkness
my feet will stumble
my ways confuse themselves
in speaking.
No cup or sword
is given
though they are suggested
in the tongue.
Either a floating city
or a place i have dug
of endless passages
in dark labors
with the hands of my limitations
endless without exit
my thumbs pickle
for i am
a lost pilgrim
seeking providence.
as i pass
a red rose luminous
at the crossroads
may i like a prophet
find shelter in your petals
or solace
in your thorns.
I am too sophisticated
for such a plant
for I am not
a lotus eater.
Dim and dreary
a proverb is written
on the chalkboard of my eyes
“Do not mock for as you are
so shall you walk.”
I sing
some broken poems
then simply
return to the journey.