My voices divide my consciousness.
Mother and birth, Father and youth.
Men and women on pathways to my eyes
stop to tell me things I must remember.
This is the left side of my journey
where I still remain in my preciousness.
On the right side I have daily focus
like the sun in each day's morning.
What is now is on my value scale.
What may be is in my eyes of others
who see me and know me not.
In my art my subconscious rules direction.
It works past my idea of line and verse
and its final song has only wonder
discussable at leisure if you like.
That can be a wonder too if we do.
How much more about ourselves will evolve?
And will it matter in the efforts of our art?
Unit the next intermission we know only what we know.
(A Few Lines in Passing)