From the place where we are right
Flowers will never grow
In the spring.
The place where we are right
Is hard and trampled
Like a yard.
But doubts and loves
Dig up the world
Like a mole, a plow.
And a whisper will be heard in the place
Where the ruined
House once stood.
Have you ever, as a small child, wandered farther from home than you meant to or were aware of until you found yourself in a place where you had never been before? All at once you realize that YOU are in this strange place. Stock still, not breathing so you can listen, you stare at grey rocks with whorls of lichen on them like faces, tree-roots like snakes, the tress themselves heavy with leaves and silent. Your heart comes into your throat. Quietly, very quietly, you get back onto the path, then you take to your toes for all you are worth. This may have been the first experience of panic fear ... but you met someone there: you met yourself.