I do not comprehend
trees
that spring from
the mind
with branches of ink
onto invisible paper –
the future
when did we
all become
dumb poets
composing
impossible fictions
nothing can be known
and oaks
stretching firm and stable
limbs
into tomorrow
do not really
exist.
Beyond Language 
‘nothing can be known’
One thing is known and pervading though. As the art that brims your hollows, smearing the emptiness of a webpage, and pouring down the receptors of my widening iris: the only thing tangible enough to be known – a state of ambiguity.