The sheriff and I were waiting
in a crowded room.

We spoke of time, not days and hours,
but time itself, the uncertain duration,
like water in a small bucket we sense wasting,
as if eternity could be frittered away.

We spoke of space,
the essential nothingness that stretches
throughout the universe,
never seen or really understood,
but more indispensable than air.

We spoke of things that are real,
like the county issue desk he was using.
He rapped it with his knuckles and said:
“This is real”, then he reconsidered and said, “...for now.”
It stood there passing away before us,
like refuse in space-time, not really real,
not mattering at all.

We spoke of God, but stumbled for words,
seeking the greatest simplicity,
saving content from form.
No old  or new idea was good enough,
and we were now more lost than before.
Yet we wanted nothing more than to speak the truth
all day, and always…,