I don't believe you

I don't believe you.

I don't believe your reasons
And your analysis of the seasons.

And I don't believe that you know.

Perhaps
In inner courtyards
When the skies purple with ink

You show

But I don't believe you know.

The spirit touches upon infinite things
And baubles that a christmas brings

Drift to snow.

And yet, infinitessimally

I don't believe you know.