I have found the debate so complex that the microcosm inside the head becomes bigger than the cosmos; for the reality is individual and tackling consciousness, imagination, memory, in a poem that is philosophical in nature and yet offers a window outside the confines of the mind in “a pillowed blue sky” make “sense and logic” cease their torment for a while. The search for an axiom that would make sense of the senseless had Descartes, so history tells us, lock himself in an oven for a day before he emerged with his famous axiom on reality and consciousness—”I think, therefore I am” makes a few words you could fit in a thimble encompass and define the difference between sentient and non and that is and was an earth-shaking statement wherein the mystery, the inchoate, is easy to get to now and it would seem, Ron, once memory is revealed as a trick played where “sense and logic” become welcome mediators some balance is achieved and a bit of angst banished as “a comfortable place to rest” is found where “hyperboles are grounded”; a line I relate to and love. The questioning of “truth or imagination” was a fitting last line I thought. When I realized my printer did not print the last stanza, I found it even more intriguing as we ended up still pondering the very nature of thought. I love this poem. Difficult and multi-layered it clings to the belief, to me, that it is not the destination but the journey. A journey as complex, imaginative, and thoughtful as the traveler who seeks out places for which there are no maps. Great poem, Ron. Thank you.~~~~~~~~~~~~~love and light, willow