How incredible, the room which you evoke
Advice from the muses, or the sound
Of Spring from your lamplit desk


We outgrew our rants on philosophy
But beauty grew on us, like poetic
Suspense, or our understanding
Of the Cosmos, until we enter


A midnight where the memory of writing ends
The Universe a designed simulation?
Where slight uncertainty gives us
A need for Faith, and doubt raises
More questions of how incredible


It all is, the Divine inclination to grow
To need to know more, and finally
The complacency to silence that is
So necessary to truly enjoy time


Still, some things always escape us
Mirrors of the moment or the window’s token blur.

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