written after viewing The Wayfarer by Hieronymus Bosch, circa 1500
I have learned to love the broken world,
the holes in the roof, the shutters unhinged.
I have learned to love the tapped out barrel
and shattered panes and the stench of men.
And I, I love being a man, which is why, I suppose,
even now as I walk toward some new life,
some life as yet unknown, I turn.
I turn, but do not stop. I turn to see
the life I’ve loved, my home, my friends,
my ochre lot. And trust my feet to lead me,
trust my hidden heart. Trust the bird outside
the cage who guides me through the dust.
And though I know there will be struggle,
though I’m lost to where I’m going,
I begin to fall in love again, this time
with the unknowing.
