we have this certain misunderstanding
makes us beg, plead—philosophize
then we think of pleasant turns:
such trees in fine meadows
an oryx jumping out of harm's way
a piece of banded chalcedony
ornaments made from nature's toolbox

i dreamt of Faulkner's Nobel speech
about refusing to accept the decline of man
Did he ever feel guilt for lying?
Did he ever have a one true friend?

my child says we're all "fakes"
some cynical wisdom in that, i suppose
but kindness doesn't turn away
it foolishly accepts but finds reward