The world forms and then dissolves —
For we need the illusion of contour
To pull us through our confusion
As we need our creations annihilated
From time to time, so that we will know
They are creations we no longer need bear
Through the increasingly tighter nets
Of what they call our desire,
The great implacable, unknowable force
That devours illusions like food
For something it can call truth.
What it needs, of course, is to remain
Indecipherable, part of a larger unknown,
Not accountable for its impulses
Hidden, as they are, behind stars.
