I do not know what I do not know.
Unknowned is to be un-owned, unpossessed,
A state distressed in doubt of no way out.
We live in probabilities of connection,
Faint dendritic spider webs to weave
Networks to capture possibility
Which, to large extent remains
Empty, unfulfilled, spun
The golden dust of promise
Drifts, immune to capture,
Glittering in some wild joy
That treasures the immense unattainable,
But yet, but yet displays
Promises of, perhaps,