Meditation
By
Radiance Angelina Petro
In the memory
there are many roads
pointing in many directions,
as in a crumpled
piece of paper.
Along each bent furrow
is a tiny clot of ink,
waiting for the warm touch
of necessity
to loosen it, unfold
and spread open
the map, allowing the words
to form, to lift, and scatter, like
a flock of sleeping birds
startled from the trees,
giving the world
what was written down
and forgotten.