Dropped blind onto the rocky plain,
No map nor compass nor star to guide,
Stumbling once, twice, too many times
Across a patch of soft wet grass,
Mistaking it for an open-hearted oasis,

One begins at last to construct a map
By feel, by smell, by eyeless sense,
Where drops of rain stand in for oceans,
The sucking vortex for two-way streets,
Wandering, mole-blind, persistent, stunned,

Until Love’s hand fires all the plain,
Burns away stark longtime blindness,
Turns even the rocks inside out,
Becomes all things: mother and father,
Faithful friend, brother, lover, self.

About janemwoodman

Singer, writer, restaurant reviewer, urban farmer, devoted lover of my husband....old and getting happier all the time.
This entry was posted in Free verse, love, Poetry. Bookmark the permalink.

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