Matter of Time

A bit of indulgence on, and apology for, the length here. I wrote this a decade or so ago, when I had a lot of downtime between classes.

Matter of Time

Atomic orbits
link
in forming molecules,
elements,
compounds,
react
in genetic flashes
of DNA
climbing
into cells which
congregate
into nerves and organs,
sight and senses,
thoughts and poetry
as I scan the page
feeding
quarks and quanta
subatomic information.

If I should suddenly,
infinitesimally,
shift half of them
to the left,
I would vanish . . .
my existence no more
than the smallest breath of wind--
a butterfly breeze.

But for some reason
beyond reason
I hang together,
wishing to become a bit
of swirling
universal drift,
but wondering
how my soul
fits into the equation,
if heaven is a lepton leap
or is made of the same matter
as dreams and imagination . . .
uncapturable in the test tube
or superconductor--
without atom to split.

If I do not cease to exist,
but merely die,
the part really gone
(from this place)
is the intangible.
The part remaining
is the matter,
subatomic,
continuing, not to degrade,
but to move on
into other forms.

Science in all its wonder
is a study
of copses
and corpses,
all falling to decay
and soon forgotten.

We are an infant race
picking up grains of sand---
tiny stones--
flecks of the larger Wisdom
that rolls stones from tombs . . .
a pail full of discoveries
on a vast,
eroding
beach.