THE PRISM

The wolf in us 

wants dissonance dead.

If we listen

our Cain will kill it.

Patterns – made or found

 – are essential then.

They offer us

relief.

Without them

ambiguity, incongruity

invite distrust,

terror.

So we strive

to stitch, to bind.

Give names 

to the nameless.

Aim to resolve. 

Understand.

Fasten ligament to bone.

Tissue to tissue.

Create coherence

wherever we can.

When we do,

the riddle unravels.

The safe cracks open.

The punch line pops.

The metaphor sings its

troubadour song.

And we seem ingenious to ourselves.

And that is all we really want:

To find a prism bending light

inside a cave.