affection

Like a drowning swimmer, my head keeps bobbing up

to the top of the pool, obtaining a disconnected

collection of final glimpses on a real world,

unfurled above the surface of my nightmare confusion.

Conclusive evidence is never freely available,

so I fail to rest with any conviction, sliding

through widening windows of obscure interpretation,

in rotation of possible (but unsustainable) hypotheses.

Nothing wounds more viciously than truth (if I found it,)

so I'm bound to cloak my understanding with a readiness

to tread other paths of comprehension -

sensing my need to scramble information.

Although uncertainty is like a curse,

to know what really happens could be worse.