You Lie, He Cried

Where does an opinion end
And a settled fact begin?

Right there, on the horizon.
All the human violence,

Mercy, keeps confined within
The landscape of opinion,

While calm contentment has been
Waiting past certainty’s thin

Division where the sky spins
To ink the infinite skin

Of what cannot be questioned—
Truth in its own environs

Past that line, in your vision,
Within sight, the horizon.