one chair

After four sterile months (Norman MacCaig)

How I got lost is nothing to do
with broken bridge or lying strangers
or forged signposts

I was among upside-down hills
and left -handed circles. I could see
only behind me.

I thought, bitterly, if there were
someone to pray to, I;d be
more lost than ever.

Then I met my friend
whom I call But...
or All-the-same...

And slowly I remembered
my language. Old maps
re-assembled in my head.

From it I chose one city,
one room, one chair.
I sit in it.
I sit in it, smiling and obstinate.
I look in front of me and there's the road
going to its invisible end.