Sunday, January 24, 2016

the blind road

What could I say from up here that would get you speak to me? 
What mountain of words would you recognize as mine? 
Any of those written on stones that I haven't bothered to throw back?
Or perhaps my feelings trampled like grass hidden beneath a carpet of snow.
Seeming to sleep under a frosted crest. 
Emerald blades below your notice. 
Maybe the fault is mine and I am not finding you through the weight of my own winter.
Not hearing you clearly over my footsteps. 
Our path not crossing because I am the one who can't stand still.
But I know that's not it.
The valley at large lies beyond the edge of this white ribbon of a road that I walk.
It is there whether or not I can see it.
Down there the snow gives to rain.  The blind ones lead and the good ones lose.
I know. 
 But I can't see what isn't there. 
And I can't hear what isn't being said to me.

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