Friday, August 4, 2017

This poem was recently revised, and due to formatting problems has been re-posted oiut of chronological order.



The Uncertainty Principle
Aug 9 2009


Before the first wind stirs.
When most of the world
still sleeps.
Morning light, like watercolour
on thick absorbent paper.

Or is it fog?
Softening
the city’s hard indifferent edges
letting me walk unseen.
As fog-horns wail,
the mournful ghosts
of ships at sea.

Or is it dusk?
The setting sun
- beaten copper, orange, rust -
touching down,
slipping soundless
beneath the hem of cloud.

Or is it night?
The ancient light
of long-dead stars;
such absolutely blackness
nothing illuminates.

Like the other unattainable things -
the speed of light
absolute zero
proving a negative.
Or determining place, direction, and speed
all at once.

Prove to me
God does not exist, he said.
He thought the proof He did
self-evident.



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