What do you want the story to be?
That men are bad and you are not free?
That good needs luck and eternity?
Does it matter? Your political philosophy?
Do you know how good you are? Comparatively?
Do you believe you are bad and therefore unhappy?
Do you gamble on whether someone has lied?
Or do you just know these things inside?
Has anyone ever tricked you, really tricked you?
Or do you know
when to guess and when to go?
If you are comfortable in your kitchen, or in your bed,
these thoughts can play inside your head,
and this poem will take advantage of this:
as moss lives on the tree—or you lean in for a pleasant kiss.