I spoke to Reality the other day, and he said, “I am, like you, an intelligent being, with a body to house myself, a brain to think, pellucid lenses to see, and appendages to push my body through the murk.” I agreed that pushing our bodies through the murk was the most we could hope for.

We push our bodies through the murk
Believing we are first in line
That we alone make all things work
And disregarding every sign
That universes come and go
Pellucid lenses dim with age
Synapses gradually slow
And every book has a last page
It matters not what lawyers write
Or mountain heights the techies stride
We’re born at dawn and leave at night
Along for life, a wondrous ride