THE SYMBOL

Cannot be pinned like a monarch

to a spreading board.

Or bound by brick and mortar.

Is not made from balsa

and finds flight 
from third-grade fingers.

It won’t be grokked

by a scientist’s arrogance.

Or engineered like the Hoover Dam.

Or fit into a pewter thimble.

It is more like an inkling than an idea.

A hint not an answer.

A seeing that shuns windows.

Spore more than acorn.

A light stitched through the dark.

The symbol’s in you.

The symbol’s in me.

The symbol’s Mystery.

It is a cipher no code can crack.

It is like the blank behind these lines
that buoys up this page.