Paul Lojeski
A Bit of Vision
Done without thought,
stumbling through woods
at dusk: you trip on iron
roots snaked across
the path and almost tip
over. Righting yourself
only at the last second.
But the impetus
of effort pushes you
in another uncalculated
direction. This sequence
occurs for decades until,
finally, one evening,
just before your foot
crashes into the next shiny,
black tendril, you catch
sight of it and stop.
In that split-second, you
recognize the mistakes,
the errors multiplied,
the cacophonies of your
flights downward: a life
in blinders remarkable
for nothing but its repetition.
But here is a bit of vision,
of clarity sparkling and you
step over the root and cry out
into the coming darkness.