To Search, Wander
Are you after what the poet cannot find, the significance you have a sense for like cloud formations and dirt clods and warm currents deep enough to know he may not have a clue, not as you do, yet you’ll go around his feet walk a path that’s incomplete from childhood to chances of evening out of days into delirium across the dark pond and puzzled moon scaling images you’ve not seen riding metaphors in between where you marvel for a moment and give him all your change since he sings like no one’s listening (it’s your rooting that’s so interesting) close to making the meaning you meant for him to make out of life, such grace, that dream until you run out of steam and let your eyes skip to the last stanza?
All this for that you’ll go through? Hallelujah. I’ll come too.