This being, undiscovered identity
behind the original atomic mote –
one neutrino, or wave, or string
away from infinity in the vastness
of our single minuscule universe
among the infinitude of all possible
universes, the isness of it all.
If I stoop to calculate, step my bare-
foot way out of Eden unpropelled
by awe, I have not even fallen.
The photograph does rob from the soul,
and calculation is mere photography.
The true physics is still all dream,
palpable until dawn, soaring
nevertheless at light speed to escape
the flick of the shutter, the switch
on the blank wall that turns life
into artifact. It is our incalculable
physics of dream and story.