Knowing Is An Apple Pie

Startled by a sound on the edge of night, keeping a slight rhythm in the face of life. Wondering, oh wondering – how I take another day? how my heart beats another pulse? how the moon glides slowly across the sky, hanging low like some kind of conscious, hanging low like some kind of mystery, low like a carefully placed secrete, like a human mind waiting to be explored. Seeing an image at the edge of light makes one question the reality of life. And knowing, great knowing that as long as we don’t believe it we must somehow know it. Somehow, we understand our gaps are closed. Somehow, we pretend our knowing is complete, like an apple pie cooling on a window sill, but what is an apple pis compared to the universe?