It is not so bad to be lost.
Being lost only rankles when you’re sure
you are heading somewhere.
But once you’ve been lost long enough,
you stop believing in arrivals.
When you are lost, you can walk
in any direction, toward that mountain,
for instance, without worrying
you should be walking toward work.
You can smell the frying of peppers and onions
in oil and be led by your nose.
When you’re lost and don’t feel any need
to find a way, every path leads you
exactly where you need to go.
You think it’s so important to have direction,
to follow the steps to a goal.
I can tell you feel a bit sorry for me,
poor lost soul, And then with a look
at your watch, off you go to your next place
to be. You gaze lands down the road,
your foot urging the gas. But if you went slower,
what would you see? And if you didn’t know
how the path goes, where else, where else
might you go? Who else might you be?
And I, I will wander, perhaps, among
the chamisa and sage. Who knows
what might happen next?