you shaded the background
so that it would not seem so infinite.
You gave it a tone that, well looked at,
grasped finiteness to a broad stroke
that could be contemplated without trembling.
It was the strongest reason
a conviction whose doctrine
could illuminate hundreds of thousands of tweets
and encourage so many transitory ideas
like holes in a sieve.
It was all too simple.
The hardest thing was setting
the shading in the rust
that segregated the trompe l'oeil.
You wove a veined twine,
not very resistant, a simpleton
pretext that anyone covets,
and you deposited the darkened bed
with the care of a false certainty.
You weren't aware until much later
that your rigging would be a worldwide rumor,
that the capsize of your restlessness
I would procure the rest of deafness
and the faith of blindness.
What you always denied yourself
(you considered that delving would be redundancy)
was to get up on the rostrum
to clarify the how.