How science loves its absolutes,
          The hapless zero where nothing stirs
The speed no photon can outpace,
          The void infinities of space.

Yet on this cloudless night I gaze,
          And from the moon quite casually
I turn my head to look upon
          Old Ursa Major in the north
And know that my perception has
          Stepped faster far than photons may
Through space/time's meadow easily,
          For creatures of perception are
Not made for universes where
          A scientist can fence them in
With facts about the tick of time,
          The speed of light, or zero's chill,
Or measure such a creature's Will.

So in my den last night I took
          To solitude with wine and book
And bridged millennia to talk
          With sages science never taught
To inventory space and time
          Or mute a sacred Kingdom's rhyme,
Undoing all Creation's glory
          With phylum, class and category,
Where Oneness suffers the recision
          Of logic's knife and definition.
They knew a pale moon's metaphor,
          The all or nothing of a flower,
And in each pebblestone could see
          An emblem and a deity,
The sacred kingdom of the heart.

Then, Love, though we must be apart,
          Or even if we've never met
O'er Being's tangled internet,
          Let us abridge the step of time
With just a page, a note, a rhyme.
          Write what's truly in your heart,
And we across the void of night
          Will teach each other to indict
A world for which we were not meant
          And so a finer world invent
Where we may evermore relate
          In happy realms beyond debate,
Though Ursa Major fade from sight
          And absolutes...but you must write.