These flickers of ghosts
Become our history
But the world they cause
To exist
Goes back in a blink
To invisibility
As if to evade our marauding thoughts
That conjured
What they chased
There is left for us
What remains concealed
What hope that makes all things
Failed
Again and again reveal
Some truth that lies beyond
This truth
And swirls in an equiprimordial
Hermeneutic circle
And we suffer both
Neither one a source
For pain—
Appearance is our sunshine
Speaking is our rain—
But the pull somehow of both
Against our center—
The real that never quite becomes
Desire
So simple
To make those opposites attract
So hard to make them each
Equally true
