Bishop Berkeley purported

the non-existence of matter
everything in the universe
as merely ideal,
creation stories
developed only in our minds.

Impossible to refute
and yet

this morning
I hear the sharp
"fee-bee" of the chickadee call,
feel the wind's chilling breath
brush my cheek,
taste the burst of fire
in my coffee,
as my bare feet complain
at the icy deck-glaze.

Perhaps old BB forgot
to pause from his thoughts,
never looked up to that suspended
half-white sphere,
could not imagine the moondust:
how they'd breathe it in
how it entered
lungs and sinuses
became cellular links
to those yet to be seekers.