To what do I misperceive--
not what. For what
is all and all
the misperception certain.
Look down to the bricks
that twist in deep time
and guess
my biggest misperception
that I am the penultimate
example of
to be.
When not inches
under my soles
churn trillions of themselves
souls,
cutting,
arranging
chiseling plinths
of dark.
Look in the bark of the tree
and notice the green of moss-
to-be.
Whole-noted the organic skin
of undecayed limbs
the true true stay of feet.
No crooked beams be this--
no cudgel for the weary.
To what else do I misperceive?
The very nothing flower petals--
soft and pearly
colorful they dance
as I
impossible to land.