My mind wanders and fails to tell my inattentive self where it has been. Maybe it is gathering revelations while I watch the ordinary world. Maybe someday it will reveal to me thoughts in the calls of birds and words on the wind. Or maybe it only dreams, while I remain here among the leaves and grass and flowers and their dust. I like to think that it has found secrets for which I am unready, but there is no certainty in that. It could be that it is merely absent, and someday will wander and not return while I fade like evening light. Should star emerge I'd like to be ready, but otherwise the lack of any surprise will not surprise me. The world is a strange place, but no stranger than myself, two places at once, each unknown in its own way.
One of the Notebook Poems
by Dylan Thomas
I have come to catch your voice, Your constructed notes going out of the throat With dry, mechanical gestures, To catch the shaft Although it is so straight and unbending; Then, when I open my mouth, The light will come in an unwavering line. Then to catch night Wading through her dark cave on ferocious wings. Oh, eagle-mouthed, I have come to pluck you, And take away your exotic plumage, Although your anger is not a slight thing, Take you into my own place Where the frost can never fall, Nor the petals of any flower drop.