You are reading a poem, words, words, word after word, a sequence of meanings. You think you are getting it. Catching on.
Not quite. Maybe. Could be.
Then –
there is a moment.
The maze of the poem opens – a clearing.
A deer steps out of the forest.
A bird appears, a red dash through branches.
Aha! – you say. That’s where this poem is going, has gone. I have arrived through the labyrinth of images, metaphors, and stand in the poem’s golden room. The window is open.
The red bird flies in.
2015