“To Him, Rebirth”
To him, rebirth, balance, and the beauty of the signs
Equal in their fixed or roughly chagrined interpolated worths,
The grain of this and that least overweening truth: this moon and that earth.
These gaseous rhymes are Newton-ruled through arrogance in lines
That, for the gilded moment, govern. Gather, most that were so coldly sown
And chissled in stone and flown on blackboards aptly still remain as fact:
The frills, the bold enlightenment of Eighteenth Century racks,
These, the royal bulls grace all present tables; theorems known,
Conveniences; axioms,the decoration; forms, merely shibboleths
To bide the hour until such quantum quatrains as minds today divined
To be but little more than kin and less than kind
To the going price of Uncle Tom’s Axioms and flat-out relatives to what are sets
In living energies or mass in someone else’s inbox. But, breeding need in speed
And what effects in temperature, induce the seed, belabored elements to bleed.
…at top, lyre discovered in the Royal Tombs of Ur…