Sinsinawa Labyrinth

Beneath a row of pines, on the left side
of the silent road, rests the labyrinth.
I breach the broken bones of limestone lines
in search of a golden thread.

Instead, debris litters the pebbled path.
Dead things lay beneath my feet,
shed from trees above my head;
leaves crunch, twigs crack.

Disoriented, I wander the maze
as the center moves
farther and farther away;
lost in mounds of thought.

Abruptly I'm centered.
A feather enchants my eye;
from the marrow I'm given wings and vision.
I see there is not a golden thread;
I have not sown it.

No longer fearing the narrow path,
I acknowledge the dead things.
The obstacles seem quite small
compared to the length of lines I've walked.


by Elizabeth A. Hall
1/29/06