To say that a person knows everything

That is pure and blatent ignorance 

And to many, the world is just as flat as it is round

It has no shape but it makes a ticking sound

On and on, changing, growing old, growing young

Like a moth at a lit window at night

We tap, tap, tap

So light, it only leads us astray

But how wonderful it is to be lost

Without a schedule, without a clock

Only the undulating chest of nature

To keep us company, rising and falling

Exhaling its wind, sighs of elation, sublime rain

Effacing the impurities on human faces