The spirit of enquiry leads me
Both over roof- and mountaintops
And through the deserts where she feeds me
On manna-dew and kitchen slops.
She takes me through the deepest hollows,
Along majestic city streets,
Inside the moss-lined nests of swallows
And to the moonlit grave of Keats.
And, when I sleep, she makes me travel
Along the byways in my mind.
At her instruction, I unravel
The skein of thoughts time’s left behind.
Though she’s a stranger to existence,
I know myself through her insistence.
Photo by Elvis Ma on Unsplash
