We are thinking things –
sitting, sinking things:
we crease, flop and fold in
arcane origami,
arms/legs crossed
on despair/prayer/perplexion,
each of us the manifestation of a hex
spoken over us from a lineage of words and will –
The earth is filled of quests questioned
by our sequestered souls pulling
the hems of our lot around us,
dimpling the universe,
as we wait with the weight of it
in a certain kind of faith
that the strands we pull
like blind puppeteers lead to something.
The strands beckon with magnetic possibility,
pull us into our humming stillness,
gorging ourselves on potential energy,
humming the tune to a song,
to which we have forgotten the words.
James Opal is an IT guy, writer, and actor from Madison, WI.