Detour

The truth behind the bars
Is never the truth on the outside
But where is in
And where is out?

Aren’t we all tired?

I’ve learned that everything is
temporary. And so
whatever flees will change
its direction, its resting space, its sources
of nourishment, its causes
of grief.
At the same time, whatever flees
will find its way back home.
No matter what.
(Everything is temporary.)
To itself.
To the push and pull of existence,
to the inexhaustible inquiries of the soul,
to the wails of its loneliness and joy.
Everything is
temporary.
Listening, listening
To the sound of madness, of silence,
of the cracks of twigs and pebbles
on summer afternoons.
They all feel like autumn.

The truth behind the bars
Is never the truth on the outside.

Listening until the very end
Where temporal goes and rests
Because aren’t we
all tired?