If I blur the lines,
I lose the parameters:
success or failure
truth or fiction.
Would that inability to see clearly make a kinder, gentler me?
Would I approach life with more care and curiosity,
not knowing what is before me?
In a sense, it is already true.
I see the road ahead and know its curves by heart, but what of
the eagle soaring, a friend coming to call, a poem out of the blue:
God’s hand, plain and true.
Blur the lines.
Know not what you see
Until it unfolds
In its own time.