My thoughts shuffle how I feel. My feelings
mangle efforts to think. So I get mixed
up, like briars. Must resort to kneeling
in prayer, confess all, admit I can’t fix
myself. Listen. Sense my tangled cables
unfold like thick roots reaching for water,
thin branches stretching to sunlight, able
to focus a moment, then another.
Something glows deep within these vibrating
wires, but I can’t make it out. Must I track
you down again? How I keep debating
forgotten propositions, leading back
to my mute, multi-angled starting line,
reseeking lost cables to the divine.
Roger Armbrust
May 10, 2010
