“I Do Not Think, I Know”

What of the wonders of the early mornings
The elliptic light and first intonations of the birds
Sweltering over a breakfast of cornmeal tones and mossy
Hilltops?
What of the wonders of licorice slow afternoons
Sipping siestas and the music of nothing-to-do
But remember and quell the anxieties of tomorrow’s necessities
With love’s cup?
What of the wonders of opal moonlit evenings
Wanderings and wonderings between the shadows
Unclipped desires strung from one star to another in secrecy
Like teardrops?

What of all these?

Perhaps if I looked at a different map altogether?
Perhaps if my eyes were blind and minions of patterns
Vanished; were water soluble and vacuumed,
Quests would be unreachable like God is?

The big bang and Darwin’s philosophy
Meet my eye and the eye disputes such immaturity
With dismay and a strand of hushed eyelashes wet
In a sob.