I get lost easily, even now,
entering the dim, allegorical woods
preserved inside our city, always
the faint white noise of traffic
somewhere beyond the trees as I wander
with diligence down a dirt path beaten
by others and myself. I’m on my way
I think, until I think I’ve been this way
before not twenty minutes ago. I’m never sure.
Nothing is a straight line
or even a labyrinth but a squirrelly maze
I trace and retrace almost every day
for whatever thoughts that might arrive
as I walk in circles, truer circles described
inside of circles, having learned
that I need to get lost, a parade of one,
to find my calling, then lost again
to find my own way home.
Richard Cole has published two books of poetry: The Glass Children (Georgia) and Success Stories (Limestone). He is also the author of a memoir, Catholic by Choice (Loyola). www.richard-cole.net
