Everything That is Known

The the line between the known
and the unknown

is bright, hard and curving fast,
in some places too dim to see.

Other places are slow and sinewy,
snaking back and forth

like a river making oxbows
on the way to the ocean.

Most of us, like sand pipers,
pick at small parts of the line

hoping a garage-full of old car parts
might someday be a new car.

Herod wanted history to know
he was innocent.

I would like history to know
I walked the line and did more than pick at it.

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