Homing

For all the tricks
The light plays on the eyes,
The eyes still find their way,
Guided by some inner headlight
Stumbling off course, again and again,
But still finding their way home.
For all the tricks
The eyes play on the heart,
The heart still knows the road
(It has traveled here before).
There are a million tricks
The heart plays on the soul–
Sending it to dry holes,
Down blind alleys,
Into locked gardens,
Cul-de-sacs,
But with the inscrutable genius
Of a pigeon or cat,
It somehow finds its way.