Poetry

There are days I know I don’t know
and that no one else does
and that we all flirt with it too casually,
this not knowing.
And then there is a kind of knowing,
slippery, shifting, mist-covered, absolute,
and when I wish to come to It,
when I’ve tired of disapproval, of disbelief, of freedom,
then I’ll come to You, your voice,
the one behind it.