For The Sunday Whirl: wordle #114
And Poets United: poetry pantry #154
Muddled thoughts have left
muddied mess of tracks
on floor of cerebellum.
Complex answers remain
in class of their own, crawling
through rich dark loam of back forty,
while a familiar forest of questions
is shrouded in gaseous mist
thicker than fog.
Pale trembling hand reaches
for guidance at edge of utter
still hoping to grasp concrete
resolution somewhere on this spiral path
between truth and lie.
Elizabeth Crawford 6/23/13