The soul is so invisible
it wasn’t found in the old,
holy times, the old men reading scripture,
or, silent in the desert, hungry, delirious,
no one saw the soul; nor did it manifest in
ancient parchment or in a cough
in the hours before dawn, in running water
no one ever saw the soul. It wasn’t in
poetry or times of great comfort, even in laughter,
pure laughter, or the skilled, miraculous
feats by men and women, even in hallucinations
when knowledge formed into clear
pictures and understanding, nor in
children or the sight of animals, in very odd feelings,
nor in love, in her when she loved,
or in cries of ecstasy; the sun; the cool stars.
It has never been seen in the part or in the whole.
You were looking for life.
You weren’t looking for the soul.