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?
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