Not Knowing

The mystery speaks to the stroke of brilliance,
mandible wagging deliberately oblivious to the ensemble
of thoughts in my mind.

Float on the surface of the water
or look carefully through the woody vines in the arbor
and you may deliberate joy caught in the clouds above.

As for me, I won't inspect the color blue too closely,
nor will I ask for proof of vitality.

Instead I will listen with each breath
to the sound of peepers,
imagine the color of daffodils,
and wait for the sun to dip below the horizon
of all thought.

The moon will rise slowly
where peaceful chirping of the night
drifts into not knowing anything.