THE DRAFTSMAN
There are hidden lines
projecting out from all things,
which define relationships
between all objects.
The world is crowded with them
but thankfully they are mostly
only theory, imaginary lines
sometimes symbolized in drawings,
but they are everywhere.
We walk through them
like a sea of invisible reeds.
We break them, and new lines
define us, our motion, our place.
Skew lines extend infinitely,
never meeting, an unlikely
fate among the infinite.
Parallel lines do it too,
but they somehow know
each other, share a different
but common intention.
Who knows, they may be
secretly headed toward each other,
actually intersecting
just beyond the extent
of our logic,
or our ability to measure
perfect alignment.
But in the mind, ah,
there they extend forever,
delicious concepts unfettered
by metaphor
or some engineer
making things work.