I know less than I used to —
or more to the point
I newly distrust what I have known;
discard certainties, ask more
questions, live more with no answers
to old questions. Fire-feeding,
all the time, using past platitudes
for fuel.
What little I still trust
doesn’t glow or shine
as much as burn low,
those slow burnished embers
a dull rose under fluffed ash.
One can keep warm a long time
by a heat as small as that.
Dark Matter 