The Adventurer and the Poet

Out there
Alone in the wilderness,
here with mates in the city jungle,
the wheels turn, the knees give and take,
the ground responds, the hands do their thing,
the head does not think about thinking,
the body and the machine self-solve,

dissolve into the eyes
of a head
to fire electrify
a new synchrony
that sometimes inhabits
the space that the poet loves.

This wonderful, amazing space
that all of us inhabit
from time to time
intersects fondly with
a terrain where
brick be word
clay be sound
sculpt might be marble
and play is surely adventure
among myriad other unnameables.



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Dedicated to Danny Macaskill