If you try to describe the sensation
Of diminishing will
You not arrive at the horizon?
Will you fold a map of these signs and
Positions into a brief moment
Or maybe find a way to a bright circle
A center of assumed luminousness
Accompanied in painful alteration
In peril, transposed
And finally left in darkness
At the foot of consequences?
What will happen
If you lose your compass?
Into what wind will you send your prayers?
Source: Ulysses. James Joyce
About the Author
Mike Tracy was born in 1951. He lives in California and is a painter, writer, thinker and friend.