we navigate the labyrinth of illusions with great care -
it seems that someone up there is constantly
shifting, re-arranging its dimly lit corridors,

burning blueprints, erasing signs;
we wait, we turn to stone, we eat the silence, what else is there to do?

and in that slumber of fear

we summon images of a passage to a dreamless winter

we imagine a love that cannot be

we unravel old mysteries

and gain a measure of clarity…

we hope to find the way out;
but aren’t hope and waiting

dark corners of the maze?

isn’t the quest just the universe

deceiving itself?