any clean
quiet morning
in all its perspicacious
stillness
to ripple
and dither into
just another day?
Is energy
just coiled matter
which has not yet
unfurled itself
and deigned to appear?
As I ask, I notice I'm not even
looking for the answer,
because if there's
one thing I know, it's that
by the time I'm done inquiring,
every word
is abandoned
like a seashell
on eternity's shore—
everything we know
is gradually
something else entirely,
without any
reference to lesser
or more.