I am the head of a family in which everyone is running for president. I am trying to lead them in ways of wisdom.
“In the next few minutes there will be a wasp trapped in a spider’s web,” I announce. “We must free it.”
Suddenly the air is filled with wasps all around us, but none are trapped.
“Oh well, we must not kill anything for the next few days,” I say.
My son Jordan jumps up and gesticulates wildly shouting, “There are some who are not able to accept calmly the restrictions of responsibility and become angry.”
“But calm reflection will enlighten you more,” I reply.
“I am not angry,” he says sitting quietly down.
I am never clear on where I am headed, just vaguely moving toward a dim light. Light breezes intercept my progress and shift my route, or sometimes I am swatted away staggering in a completely different direction. I expect these diversions every now and then.
A movement of horizons
How could I bring the sky down to my bed?
Nights awake staring into
the wall surrounding the universe.
But what is on the other side?
I built walls that could not contain
Oblivion’s eternal reach.