Deep, Like Truth
But I believe the truth, so deep and stark,
Shows through: we see you shining in the dark,
Your skin transparent as a mayfly’s fate,
The organ in such an appalling state,
As roughened and scarred as old redwood bark,
Showing what looks to be a maker’s mark
From some feckless source, never known or great.
It isn’t plate, though, is it? What I fear
Is that this tarnish anyone can see
Runs deep, like truth. Somebody once told me
That steel beneath the silver keeps it clear.
Your heart is made of silver, so I hear,
Without that core of steel you’ve claimed falsely.