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.