Dead Tree Floated by the Rising Lake

So many meanings lack
Tangible references,
Inferential data,

Any experience
Outside of languages—
Strange imagination

Can be so reliant
On memory, so weak,
Yet arrive at thoughts

Of things that don’t exist.
Strange that we who say this
Can’t ourselves make meaning

But make such homes for it
That things dwell within us
That, except as meanings,

Never could exist—gods
And monsters, naturally,
Agonies, painless bliss.