In your world there are no signs
to tell you to stop. Go.
You simply walk and discover
what is on the other side,
a meandering sort of existence
that has worked remarkably well,
trusting an invisible God to reroute the paths
to where he wants me to go.
Heaven and hell on earth, exotic landscapes
both internal and external,
strange countries, without ever leaving home.
About this poem
I am not in an emotional place today. My mind is full of practical things I need to do. So this poem began with an exercise of wondering what it would be like for a person in a foreign, rural country to come to a city like New York and all it’s walk/don’t walk signs, and other codes of the city.
Somehow the poem ended up here instead.