•
damaged in their special ways
they like the path unclear
the route unmarked
fond of stumbling in
fumbling through
finding the way that’s theirs
engaged by the obtuse
the uneven
the asymmetric chord
they see grace and form
in brilliant imbalance
seduced by the clue
drawn to the fog
they seek the wonder
it withholds
where they long to go
is always round the bend
over the hill
behind the door
their ears prick
to the distant sound
that calls
just beyond clarity
to all these things
their souls are pulled
because
down the trail
in the mist
around the curve
over the crest
shut away
the clarion awaits
• • •
Till
•
to all things an end
time wears dull the perfect edge
rendered frail and soft
so too memories of when
till that time may come again
• • •
