Lost

flustered, he stops & stands

& stares through thin woods

to green lawn, residential buildings

I must have made a u-turn somewhere

he has a hard time believing

he’s lost, in his own woods

woods he’s owned for decades

that’s a good thing, I say

he won’t answer, won’t admit

that to own is not to understand

to own is often to misunderstand

when I too see the green lawn

I know I’m looking south

I’m ten steps from his property line

yet he’s lost, not because 

he doesn’t know where he is

but because he’s not where

he thought he would be

it’s a good thing to be lost

to need to scan the ground

for a traveled path, scan the trees

for a trail blaze, scan the sky

for sun or moon or stars

when I’m lost I think about

Walter Benjamin, how somewhere

between France & Spain, between

life & death, he chooses to die

which is worse? to live or die

to be lost or found, I prefer

to live & be lost, to proceed

along an unknown route, I know

whatever happens will