to the hitch at the end
has been found:
turns out, our philosophy
was backwards and
upside down.
Turns out, God
was not only here,
but embedded—
tangled in the moss
and installed in
all the pebbles.
In that case,
perhaps you were not
your thoughts after all,
but the tiny anxious blanks
which were fixed
in between them.
Go back, then,
in pursuit of your
newly found smallness—
your drooling
chin and
waning attention—
clap your chubby hands
at the coincidences
which spin
clockwise,
while music chimes
above your crib.
