The things I don’t understand
are myriad
I forget that, sometimes.
I forget it when I’m flying
When I’m swooping
When I’m surfing on the joy of life
It’s when I find myself in the morass
Churning, flailing
That all my simple answers seem
like the fur of a dowsed cat
Exposing scrawny neck and bony frame
No longer capable of warming
Void of the buoyancy required
to lift me out
But then
Whenever did my flight
rely on my own knowledge?
Maybe it doesn’t matter
what I don’t understand
Maybe I only need to know
One thing.
©Wendy Mulhern
December 18, 2012
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