You are projected like a map
As if you could be put upon a grid.
All that flows across my charts
From you, in need, is laid out and clear.
But I am lost.
The body signals passion –
The arms reserve.
The eyes may flash with wit
And then, again, with fear.
I am confused.
The mind sends clear constructions
Of overlaying functions,
Analyses as straight and true as light.
It cuts across the darkness of your night.
But I am blind.
And then the heart.
Where is the map that understands its turns?
What road is there
Thru its chambered pain?
I am bemused.
Latitudes and longitudes of you:
How do I ever know what’s true?
It’s a study for which there is no school;
A discipline that marks the student: Fool.