Driving up the Dark Hill of the Mind

The only thing in nature
That is growing and goes on,
You suspect it belongs here—

Self-grafting, thing of its own,
It should have sculpted itself
As a source of reliance—

Mind — the invisible guest
Of every conversation,
The process floating mid-air

Maybe, but to be recorded
Whether the fact inheres there
The first line of protection,

What allows a child to feel
Safe within the broken wheel.