In pursuit  of what,
something symbolic,
beyond this dawn door,
half shut, half closing,
the guts, gumption,
I’d face endless paths,
echoes shatter brittle,
frost despite veneer,
of dewdrop weeper,
pebble strewn avenue,
yawn from sleepers yet,
to be found wakening,
didn’t seem that pitfall,
hampered by doubt,
but where is that sign,
guide-rail, torn map, aid,
quite widely glanced upon,
while I slip into that trodden,
footpath used by drifters,
nameless pilgrim I,
somehow seem to know