A sonnet about not quite knowing.
I breathe, and know if I did not I’d die,
Yet where could knowing that in life arise?
The others choked of breath might silent lie
Like actors, cuing me for some surprise.
I believe in science overall,
But satellites put common sense to flight.
The countless times I’ve seen an object fall,
I’ve never yet seen one that fell straight right.
I think—at least I think it’s I who thinks;
The thoughts say “I”, but maybe I ’tis not.
Perhaps the proper thinker laughs and winks
When such a faulty “I” comes through its thought.
I live, it seems, when everything is known
And yet new knowledge every day is grown.
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