You push your fingers
and tell me to believe
reality is only known through
these physical symptoms
everything else is fog
and gets lost through ambiguity
because I have no hands to hold it
to tell it what it is
to sing it lullabies at night
the whispers have no solid bell
to receive it
they travel endlessly
losing its tail end like shuttles
playing telephone with the truth
how many times can you distort
until it comes back to what it was?