When we learn in adulthood
That which, under kinder circumstances,
We would have learned much younger
In innocence
Never knowing at all that we had learned it
What would have been play
Or perhaps a fear quickly comforted
There, in the garden
Is now violent in its insistence
That something has gone amiss
The tree having grown strong
And unyielding
Must be bent to breaking
And still the cure is imperfect
There is however this grace
In the ungentleness
This time, we enter eyes open
Aware
This time we understand
And this sight, this understanding
Is beautiful
And is needed
I do not believe the way is so narrow
But the way back to the way
From where we find ourselves
Is difficult and poorly marked
Is, in fact, narrow
If one finds safe passage
Or any passage at all
It is good to keep a travel log