A truer poem has never been written
than the one in which we’re caught.
No one appears to be transcribing it,
but for that we’re not distraught.
And a truer picture’s not been drawn
than the one in which we’re enframed.
There may be a symbol that goes with it,
though in fact it’s not been named.
A truer building’s never been built
than the one in which we reside.
The floor stretches out from this wall to that
and it’s seven nothings wide.
And a truer tune has never been sung
than the one in which we’re hymned.
The verses roll off one by one
and the refrain is solidly rimmed.
Indeed, there’s never been a truer hole
than the one in which we dwell.
It’s the one we’ve inhabited from the start –
the gap through which we fell.