Simon of Cyrene helps to bear the cross

Only that his reasons for climbing have
blurred; that he can't remember past
his mother's face.  He's too crowded, can
feel the fingers of the people round him
pluck at him (the people round him are too
far away to reach, but this one reaches);
their glances have become too readable.
He has no reason for this assent -
he nods, though, letting one approach,
allowing borders he let flash fire
fall a while.
               It was, perhaps,
the only bundle of reactions he reached out to.
A silence of the silent contact sparked his
own preoccupations, melding into three
distinct components, all unrecognised (and largely
unremarked).
              He feels few needs, now, but
is too aware of this.  He needs to know that
this is right, but contact takes his barrier
and twists it, warps the map
from which he works.

And he can't know that the scale is slightly out,
that maps' and landscapes' meetings are 
unlikely; he refers to one or to the other,
never noticing the two together - if he'd 
noticed them together, this connection, this
assistance he accepts, would surely have been
hampered, would have been delayed at least.
Probably he'd not have started.

( to the contents page.)