again Ariadne

Theseus

    from the bow

        saw her reflection in the river

                 

I could disassemble myself he said 

            replacing

       throughout the years

every particle of the original 
convincing myself

I’ve not become different 
              the whole while

              a ghost of a voice 

whispers about distinctions

                 small

                 and

                 vast and
still I would only be able 

             measure the distance

             between us in nights
   their numbers alone

setting me to contemplate

vaulting the rail 

       making for 

       any shore

       that will have me
(c) 2017 Fred Whitehead 

finding

finding 
it’s not so easy a matter as

clattering about in a box

           taken down only

           when mystery elbows

           curiosity into action
you have to want to dig

             deep 

cutting through roots thick and ancient
a lifetime of dirt hauled to the surface 

to be sifted by others
hands bloodied inevitably

an ache that will not subside 

whether you unearth

yourself or not
most likely you will 

     (in the end

invent sense for clues

that make none
             alone

hoarding youthful trinkets 

rewriting history 

for the unsmiling 
(c) 2017 Fred Whitehead