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Reliable Equation

An engine rumbles in the brain and is poor
compared to wind or water on the skin.

The heart sets itself with unscheduled thoughts.
No—it is beset with their bright burning.

What remains: scorched boards, smoldering bricks.
The rubble tears at the tenderness there.

I might smell the leafy earth blood beating
while I attempt to decipher the cold moon.

God’s handprint not evident on either one.
The greatest mystery? Fate? A tragedy?

Consult the wise ones, disregard them, too.
I wake up beaten, breathing, conceding.

To think without proof. To feel with certainty. 
The wound ever open and warmed by the sun.