Walking here
I have to admit
I don’t know anything —
Nothing I could package
and deliver as a
Thing That I Have Learned.
I have no map for myself —
No one’s words hover at my shoulder,
especially not my own —
no conclusion I can make,
no lesson I can take from here on forward.
In what way can I say I know anything,
of life, of love, of death?
Yet when I close my eyes
and follow my breath
into the undergrowth of dream,
I feel like a wilderness
and it feels good.
©Wendy Mulhern
July 30, 2013
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