Depth Of Knowledge

All the things you think I know
Subtracted from the few I do
Would yield a quantity so low
That nothing’s up (but out of view)



An apple is.
Is that a fact
Or just convention?
May we act
With confidence
That there exists
An apple
Though our mind resists
As yet unproven
Things unseen,
Unlike this one?
See what I mean?
This apple
In my hand, my mouth,
Like Up, and South,
And Hunger, is:
I feel its mass
The way I feel
My face, your ass,
The gentle breeze
Against my cheek.
The question, though,
To which I seek
An answer is:
Does this fruit prove
If I remove
This apple, that
Another one,
For certain, is?
When this is done
And gone, an apple
May be found–
Perhaps as yet
A seed in ground
Or blossom on
A pinking tree–
That also is,
Or soon will be?
I truly hope
The latter’s true,
‘Cause that means–burp
There’s one for you.