Don’t look for it in migrating butterflies
or in a sunset that wraps around the whole sky.
Don’t look for logic in a roof-top hammock
but only for the to-and-fro of tides.
Don’t look for logic in an orange tree offering fruit and sweet blossom
on the same day.
Don’t look for logic in the sublime beauty of an ugly person,
in the cry of a rooster at two a.m.
Is there logic in the liquid glass cooled and offering you liquid?
Quiet logic, modest logic, logic in her place,
sober, comforting, hemmed in,
But don’t look for logic here.
Let the wrong bus take you away.
Let the waiter bring you a dish you never ordered, and bless him
for his confusion.
Your hand will fall upon another book than the one you sought.
Take it up.
Run from the lover you think will fulfill every desire.
Roam around like a tiny finch or hide in the brush like a fox.
Don’t try to tame every mystery or allow poor logic to have her hand firm on the rudder.
In not searching everything will come
Shy and retiring as a nightingale.
Yet with a sweet song that knows nothing of logic
but everything of order, of eternity, of logic-baffled melody.