A Poem by byron hoot

Maps

I am looking for memories
that are maps of how I have
become who I am and may
indicate, further on, who
I will be.
               A treacherous task
to weigh the past against the present
in a scale that's true, balanced.
Of course, I am not blind justice
and my arm, heart does not steadily
hold the scale.
                        But I am persistent
wanting to know the why's and how's
and what's and when's and who's
of who I am.
                      It works both ways:
I cast back and trill along
what has been hoping to snag something,
or I take fresh sign and follow
into where it leads me.
                                      It's about
50/50 which way works best
and it doesn't matter--I just
don't want to be caught in someone
else's map.




byron hoot lives in central pennsylvania as a monk without an order in a monastery without rules, aka. retired.