Everything you don't understand
makes you who you are.
The long soliloquy of St. Elmo
as he listened to the fire.
The genius of your neighbor
who waves to you now,
small person that you are,
four feet and growing shorter,
almost a shadow now,
and Aquinas' Last Argument,
your reply inked out on the crumbling
paper tucked in your wallet
like a forgotten credit card receipt.
There is bedevilment in knowing,
and the dampness of not,
your mother leaning out
from the kitchen door,
calling you back,
calling to the whole neighborhood,
the whole world
your graceless misunderstanding.