Four-Sided Fool

author’s note:

This poem brings to mind a recent dream.

Dozens--maybe hundreds--of people are roaming about a wide open plain.  Their movement seems erratic, without reason.

Then a man ascends a hill in the middle of the plain, sits down with his computer, and maps out coordinates for the entire area.

Now the people below can plot their course and everything makes sense.

It happened in a dream, so it must be true, it must be possible.


FOUR-SIDED FOOL

We can easily see
how the number 4
plays itself out
in our lives:

there are the four directions
which direct us
to the four corners,
and if fortunate,
we each pass through
the four seasons--

our tree cultivated by the four hands

governed by the four heads--
which ideally
talk to one another
with their square mouths.

But there is more four:

When you come home
four dogs wait at the door.
              Two will lead us
to the hearth inside--
the other two will take us
to the forest in back.

Though you’re divided
you know
where we must go--

and as you walk those woods
four stars will pulse their beams
to guide you--though you won’t always see
all four--sometimes none at all,
even in winter
when the four winds
sear the sky black clean.

Then when you finally emerge
onto the prairie
we will nest
with the four desert coyotes
by a chortling spring
amid soft dead leaves--

But no matter where you
find yourself
you must travel on
because we were born a Fool

and as such, can not get lost--
even when we trip--
a Fool is supposed to
trip--

this innocence
occasionally allows us
to encounter the magical silver bird
or the woman with
the burning golden tresses.

But even from the moss
and soft dead leaves
we can fire
the heart of the hearth--

which, of course,
has four-chambers--

and leads us back
to our four-sided room,
to sit
in our four-legged chair
at our four-corners table

and then to eat
our three square meals.

Since we need a story
to make sense of our journey--
to tell us how we live--
we use the number 4

because four is complete
unto itself, because four
is everywhere

and yet we must find it.

“Fool” has four letters
no matter how you spell it.

© 2008, Michael R. Patton
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