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

perhaps even modifying the blueprints;
we wait.

We summon images of a passage to a dreamless winter

We imagine an impossible love

Or practice ways of unravelling old mysteries

And gaining a measure of clarity…

we hope to find the way out;
but aren’t hope and waiting part of the maze?

Isn’t the quest just the universe

deceiving itself?