Saturday, November 21, 2015

A Trident Like Poseidon’s

You seek another mind for clues, and find it:
you’re sure those other eyes peruse an inward sea
which hides the news you need to breed
dimensionally through to views which might

effuse you into light:  provide that aid to greater
sight. The night grows late, and later, but you’ll wait
for something like a symbol in the ocean of his
consciousness to rise: a trident like Poseidon’s.

Then somehow, suddenly, you know:
there’s no such thing as guidance.
Knowing isn’t thought.
Guidance can’t be sought.


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