When it’s time, you’ll know.
But what will you’ll know? Pain surely, you’ll know that. And the sting of what’s gone unsaid, ouch and ping. A torn tendon and maybe something broken, a leg, a marriage, your will. Oh, perhaps you’ll know about the stars and the dead philosophies that make sense of lingering. You’ll find those findings. The soul? Well, if you know that you’ll know everything. It’s not all about the knowing though is it? No, not so much. It’s the finding of the thing, the trying of it. It’s not about time but it has something to do with love.