On Tracing My Human Design Chart As Compiled By A Computer Online

where any glyph may be G-d, but one.

​If there’s a map for how to live this life,
it has not yet diverged my way.
But I’ve ventured to find it.

​I looked in the closet,
where the galoshes slumped in the dark,
still wet with the heavy, wonderful mud
of the world.

It was not there.

Nor was it in the bed,
though it left something of two indentions there,
rolling into one,
still warm.

​I went to the hedgerow to ask the wren,
that tiny, shouting King of Birds.
He was too busy with his own singing
to answer.

​The stars are polite,
but they stay very far away.

​And the old books, with their hexagrams and lines,
speak a language of silence
I have not yet learned.

​Perhaps that silence
hums the true name of G-d,
and the bed knows it,
and the wren keeps it between his notes,
and the galoshes splash through it
in the patter of the rain.
But we must not speak it.

​So I wait.
I stand in the open door.

​It has not found me yet,
but I am ready
to be found.