In the picture book
our earth is split in half like an egg.
Layers of molten rock press
its yolk into solid metal.
My son studies things about science
every child should know
while at this moment,
his great-granddaughter glances back
with an indulgent smile.
How naive we are, bobbing along
inside the deaf shell
of our incomplete knowledge.
What is real will change
a thousand times,
our truths will become obsolete
when we finally disover
the core is not filled with steel and heat
but seven azure feathers
and a vial of tears
the Sumerian farmer's daughter wept
while she prayed in the dark
for rain.
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