Somehow, our building
blocks themselves
never run out.
The electrons don't
get dirty
careening around;
up and down
quarks don't get scars.
The bosons and photons
don't have memories
or future plans or prior
conditions or ages.
And yet
here we are—afraid of
that experience
which cannot be touched
or counted or
accounted for—
more often than not
believing in
something very similar.
Before the end
we'll practically declare we knew
it was there:
we knew
everything we felt
must be true
because of the meaningful way
we looked all our lives
without ever seeing
one thing
that meant anything.
