(Published in Coffee Press Journal, 2006--copyright, J. Donald Coonrod)

Dancing On Ice

“But how can it be that the ultimate
entities of our world are strings?”
--- F. David Peat

Pythagoras, so long ago,
knew by foresight, all mighty
science can say even now
about right-angled triangles.

He preached to night’s enigmatic stars,
of mystic shadow-filtered tetrakyts,
and perfect threes in a world of
fours, but his dimensionless points,
so sacred in the past, did not last.

Now quantum notes, symphonies of sound,
go around in a universe of string
songs, internal symmetries, Nambu’s
Quartet broken only in a colorful
world of Quarks where unexpected
resonance bounds—and notes of guitar
strings, tense on their pegs, are
charmingly disarming.

Increased S and T channels scatter on
whimsical platters topologically
identical with life, but they are
look alike stuff, rebounding as
Planck’s songs on strings 10-13 cm
long float down rivers of time.

But with all we know, why can’t we
see God in the disconsolate blobs
and arcane twisters of our souls?