The truth lives in the interstices,
increasingly harder to see
amid the morass of desire,
lost in the tides of alternative truths
as some prefer to call lies these days.
If you look for it you will find it,
for it burrows in, refusing to leave,
to be dislodged, transmuted, forgotten.
For most it cannot be seen but need only
be assumed, but those who need to see it
most clearly are those who wish it not so,
who, if they cannot be rid of it
because it blocks them, blocks
the path of their urges and desires
would bury it, or paint
it over or surround it with lies
until the casual observer could not
begin to tell the truth and the lie apart.