Sometimes I think a poem is going somewhere and the words take it somewhere else.
Are We There Yet?
The mind, divisible, thinks itself
at the rail of a boat on a river,
ignores the visible, messages
of eye and ear, the photo on
the wall, the furnace murmur.
Only mind can go there. Body
cannot, sitting in its chair, reading
a travel brochure. You are right
here, even if you’re wrong, having
lost the map, about the where.
Where do you want to go?
I’ll agree to meet you there, but
we’ll be here when it happens.
You can’t get there from here
though you’ll get here
from there every time.
freethoughtandmetaphor 