A drip on the rock
Infallible, we think.
As we pinch our fingers together to pluck stars.
The thing we see is what it is.
The framework for holiness set out in the first breath
Suctioned away from darkness,
Into the blindness of being.
Souls shellacked to bending trees of nerves,
Every filament vibrating with
The pain of a sustained chord
Wailing through an infinite forest.
Lock tight, our version of events.