The Writer Doesn’t See It

Why examine anything at all
when the sky puts on her covers?
A person can walk aimlessly
week after week, year after year,
for a half century at least
before asking, What’s that there
scratched out with pointed stone?
Dyslexic letters I step around
for Auld Lang Syne…is all I know.
Imagine. I can’t believe myself
for not seeing it all along! Cad.
Who writes truth in the wake
of the road, in the middle of no-
where? That I should stumble on.

for Real Toads


8 thoughts on “The Writer Doesn’t See It

  1. “Who writes truth . . .That I should stumble on.” Great question crafted about the cosmic hand that writes we don’t know where. And we might find ourselves near the words–or figure out they were there words all along. And then wonder why. Thanks!

    1. Along my real walking path, somebody had scratched a word into the ground. I was so mad at myself for not seeing it before my daughter saw it first, “It says truth.” Humph. Was I dyslexic?

  2. Well, there’s dyslexic, and there’s dyslexic. I’ve gone through bouts of both kinds, I’m sure. Missing the word on the path when we feel our job is to notice things? I agree. I’d say it, too: “Humph.” Well, at least it was a good word.

  3. You know who writes on this road for you – the same one who leaves messages for you in the seeming “coincidence” and serendipitous happenstance. Just be glad you had eyes to see it. Loved the sense of wonder in this. – Mosk

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