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Poem

If a light  thinker,  I am superficial...
If ponderous,  I am the elephant
in the room, unwanted and unloved.
If I think at all,  I am minority,
wandering from problem to conclusion—
again..again 
bringing forth curious glances
from everyone who likes one's own conclusions
undisturbed, set in place,
like rows of potted plants 
drying over winter.

It is better only to see, not to act.
It is more gentle to the mind
to sit in the attic with a book,
making notes in the margins,
listening to Bartok on the tape,
and wondering if it is safe
to descend the stairs
and banter with the world again.

And what of the world?
To whom does it belong?
If it thinks, are we one?
If it falters, are we lovers?
It is dangerous business, this brazen act
of cogitating.  It is the province
of world movers, and rogues.
Perhaps, among us all,
there is more hope for the rogues.
Deo Gratias.
                   ~

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