The Many Ears

Where did understanding
get us? Did we end up
ending up? That's where
listening leads: the terminus
of someone else's road,
a bridge to slow-where,
a concatenation of objectivity
left to the halves, halving 
like Zeno on the way
to the way to the way.
May we try again? Without
that gain? I do not know,
will not accept the snow
until it gets so cold that
my viscous blood freezes
and waits and waits and
waits.