The Wise Tell Me
The wise tell me my intuitions are correct, so long as they do not come as reflections in the mirror. A poet and true lover does not plant a seed with the full knowledge of what it will become. So this Universe did not give birth to me through the billions of happy accidents that I may become more certain than the sun. I return to my body every morning after a long journey in the night. Rejoicing in the daylight, I watch the trees shift in the breeze and listen to the birds greet the new day. My understanding of this life is no more than a city in the clouds, and my intuition is the rain which falls to Earth.
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