The mysteries of from whence we came to here
and of where we will shortly go
are the stuff of stories we make up
and then pretend to know.
We take offence and build a fence
and finally a wall
to block our view of things we think
matter little or not at all.
But how do we know? In truth we don’t.
The most important things
might be the things that are not things:
the smile a kindness brings
and also, on the debit side,
the damage from a frown.
How often in our carelessness
we let our friendship drown
because of things that we imbue,
by thinking, with the power
to make us glad for evermore
or, more likely, for half an hour.