Even if confronted
with near-infinite
time and space,
how could we be expected
to know ourselves
and be ourselves
at once?
Since Earth's adolescence,
the clerical moon
has shown us
only one
of its faces;
the tiger—whose teeth,
since the dawn
of ancient epochs,
have made it
preeminent
scoundrel of the jungle—
has never had occasion
to rend its own mouth;
even the codependent
arms of the scissors
may seem to work
boundlessly
closely together—
sharing the same heat
and blame
for destruction—
but they're fated
never to meet each other,
let alone
embrace.
