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)

system?

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