Avoiding The Virtue

In moments of hubris, 
of artificial hip, 
the most unknowable thing was 
the blood thought. 

An invisible ink, of late 
marks the error 
of autumn. A lone survivor 
of leaves of time, would not 
break the word. 

The donated eyes will not 
see the dreams. You can 
boil the bones to get the truth. 
Somewhere a guilt prospers. 

It is what you don't think.