to those that read the map
that is printed for this moment.
i leave the letters open to trap you.
remember poetry is misdirection,
by way of words.
Branching symbols speaking themselves
are new glasses for the world…
if you must steal grapes
from the vineyards of the gods.
do not as the proverbial fox
reject them because they hang
just out of touch.
do it early while your young…
for it is embarrassing in ones hoary age
to forgot why
you have climbed over the wall
to claim impetuously imagination’s
feel your way through
the stanza and the wayward lines
tap upon metaphors to find the secrete chamber
that holds all the answers