Listening for the center of the sun...

To look upon the world with these dead, glass eyes,
And listen intently with these old, wooden ears,
Is the gift of all gifts.

Like hunting for sand-dollars on the beach,
Only to find a gold coin.

Like looking for a whore,
But instead finding a wife.

Like trying to count smoke.

Like trying to see the center of the sun.

Is it even there?

No.

It's here! Here! HERE!

Just listen...