Where I Am

I am where I am, wishing I were elsewhere.
The buzzing saw. The hammers echo.
The swaying lemon tree. The immovable
doubt. It’s not enough. What will be
enough? Certainty?—well, I’ll never
have that. It will always come back
to, where did the Universe come from?
What existed before it existed? No,
certainty is a fool’s objective.
Doubt is uncomfortable, but comfort
is always false. Better to face the
fog, embrace our blindness, than
to pretend we can actually see.

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