The Resolution

I read the poem. It is without frills, without a steady deluge of emotion, it reads like a fact file - and yet it flows. On its own, it takes the shape of unaligned lines until you bring your own unique head (to it). I have to imagine the music in it or is it already there? I decide it has meaning but I am unable to decode it - perhaps because it does not talk in the language of my own existence? Or maybe because my mind is stuck in the land of the unimaginative? 

In my head, I sit inside a car and this poem without frills is spreading out like a forked road. It looks deceptively simple yet reads uncannily complex. I rev up the engine once but am wondering if I should let go of the clutch while more implications unfurl within me. Is the poet talking about the love of God or is he referring to the love he feels for his beloved? And then, nodding in faint frustration, I say out aloud: Why can't it be the same? Why can't the seemingly simple hide layers of complexity and why can't the complex only appear to be so, containing a heart that is guileless? 

I let go of the clutch and don't make a choice on which way to go. Instead, this time I read the poem - with an open mind. And the two roads, magically, become one.