Eleven

Eleven

To where this river leads
we’ll never surely know.

I’ve heard there is a heaven.
I want to believe, I suppose.

To know where this river goes
is like the number eleven.

We count it with no quid pro quo;
that it exists, we make no fuss.

We don’t even think to discuss
touching it, or knowing it’s so.

“Behold there is an eleven!”
Is not a faith to be exposed.

No one thinks it leads to heaven,
just a part of the concept: math.

So why should we be so opposed
to propose that there’s an ocean

somewhere down where the river flows,
down where the river loses its name?

Drifting down I get the notion:
purposeless purpose, I should trust.

But is this river on the Path,
or is my faith a bust?