Thursday, February 15, 2007


All the clues are scattered
Like puzzle pieces flung by
Great gusty winds.

And there is no guide
Save the common golden cord,
The knowing that resides within.

Through all bewilderment it abides,
The knowing, even within mad
and ever changing puzzles.

There is indeed a picture
formed, already complete,
needing no further search.

It is a riddle, a question,
An ever moving tide,
That finally meets the shore.


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