We Come for the Food and the Peace and the Warmth and the Rest; We Leave When There’s Math

The waves show as the points pile,
So that what starts as sprawled dots
Turns more like a rolled tin roof

In the sun, ribs of bright waves.
Just wait. Dots group. Bright and dark.
Look too close, it’s back to dots.

I say points and dots and packs,
Like stars and names, are short-hand
For the waves we can’t quite parse.

We dream of the edge, dream jumps
From state to state. It does help
To fit the world to our tricks,

But we cede such truths to it,
The ghost that jumps from the cliff,
As if jumps were all, were it.

As good as we are at it,
Math won’t solve the world like this.
Squares, splits, and bits fit to troughs

Just so well—some gaps get past.
We should be both—proud we’ve solved
Hard things we can now guess at

And get close, so close, so close—
But, too, cowed. Close as we get,
Some chit of small change slips past.

The ones no good at math laugh,
But should such be the most sad?
How to sum up who can’t add?