It doesn’t matter
how deep I read,
I don’t understand.
So far in,
now,
the words might be some
long-dead language.
I ask the follow-up questions,
requisite to my investigation,
but I’m left
as obtuse
as I was in the beginning.
Make things straight,
right,
square
with my polar North.
I can’t evade
the feeling
that I’m going off course.
I can’t read the maps,
or see the stars.
We keep moving,
but I can’t say
where we are.
The land is strange,
not the same place
I was raised.
There’s an acute feeling
there are sides falling away.
Walls closing in,
making me wish
for better days.
Surrounded by protection,
not out in the way.
Moving now,
I’m sure that I recognise this.
Been here before,
this sense of danger,
the feeling of something amiss.
I can’t tell
if I know you,
or myself.
This mad cycle;
a serpent that’s eating itself.
Finally,
maybe,
something familiar.
That sweet,
cold rush
of understanding.
Triangulate my place
in this illusion.
Finding me,
finding you,
here.
HG – 2020
