If There Be Your Prophet the God, Capable of Describing Our World

It is possible we lie
Not in the landscape
But in the swampland

Of our quintessent cosmos.
It’s possible, but it’s dark.
That’s my lamppost reasoning—

I search out the broken light
And shuffle around
Hoping to stumble

Onto what I’m looking for
Before I reach the next cone
Of comforting, ghostly light.

Neither meta nor physics,
Our shadows are not the night.