Sunday, October 18, 2020

poem

Constant

The speed of light is a constant

Like the length of Planck’s fragments.

Everything else is variable

Dependent on the presence of another,

As this glove suggests a hand

And moon demands a rising sun.

We live in this realm of vulnerability,

Always propped up by the other,

Triangles formed from sticks leaning together

That the winds might blow down.

Relational being is hauntingly fragile,

Artifacts of ever contingent possibility.

So we assume the worst,

We over-compensate,

Straining to form connections

When we’re already woven together.


We try so hard.

We can never be sure.


I refuse to be calculated

Nor reduced to an equation

For I am a function of my own actions.

Love on the other hand

Isn’t the ether that Einstein dispatched.

Love is the quantum that

Moves through the void 

Which is the emptiness

Pressed in the shape of your form

In the hollow of our mattress

That proves that here I belong.


This is our assured fate:

When you’re not here

I’ll be out seeking the rain

So you can't tell I’ve been crying.

When you’re home

I race the rising sun

To beat the morning rays.

I whisper your name before

The dawn chorus starts.

Pay attention now, listen:

I whisper your name,

My voice at the speed of sound.

When you open your eyes

The first thing you see

Is me, reaching for you

At the speed of light.


10/18/20



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