subtext

I search for some wisdom:

some tickle in the lines of bark

surrounding these carved runes

like a scar healing memory

into  my common sight.

It seems real enough,

this occluded vision:

a humming bird plays

along my periphery,

destitute of any metaphor.

I am myself the maker

of meaning I mislaid

within this whirring bird’s

divine dance, between what

I thought I was and am:

to accept the image into myself,

and seal it there, transforms

what I think I once saw,

and what I came to know;

and to reject it, does the same.