Fluid doubt floats.
Dogmatic certainty drowns under the weight
of its own arrogance.
Absolute anything, faith included,
seamless, brittle to shattering,
suffers the fate of all sin,
sinking beneath the sea, sunk by solidity,
unable to reach, however erratically,
that distant shore.
I await the chance to dance on that beach
with those whose faith left room for maybe,
and those whose doubt left holes to see.
Poems by Ken 