22 February 2014

The Silent Science

Somewhere in a lab
lies a map
made by
middle-age mathematicians—
a chart of stars
reduced to pin-points on paper
whose frame would flame
with a fraction
of each star’s heat.

We are like twigs
broken by the base
of a volcano.

But, God, can’t you see
we have been searching for you,
even in our numbering
(and naming)

Where are you?
It has taken us billions of years
to catch the slightest glimpse of you.
Still, we haven’t found
you in our nouns.

Are you hidden in plain sight
among the constellations
we learn as children?

Are you
our sun,
so close that
looking at you would
blind eyes?

We can look beside you,
or—better still—
at all you shine upon:

the whispering stream,
and sapling trees at daybreak, or

faces furrowed and
dying bees at sunset.

And, then, there is the moon.
Even in the night there is your light,
though the darkness seems more real.
You are the silver fox flashing
through the thick black forest.

Can’t you see?
We have been trying
to pick up your thread;
so, have mercy on our shorthand.
Thank you for hidden strings.
Weave your dark net.
Surprise us upstream.

the silent science
a poem by troy cady

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