Sonnet: By Faraday's Light, We See What We See
by John Kendall Hawkins
Seeing some spark of speculative light's one thing,
but looking into the soul of God's another
altogether. We see glimpsed eternity,
often as it's fading at the horizon's edge,
just before some invisible vacuum takes it,
and the held after-image we need starts to fade.
But we have yet to hold the gaze of Big Bang bling;
it's almost there, in some paradigm or other,
the terms of engagement with the 'paternity,'
an elegant willingness to creep long the edge;
but we lose our grip, abstruse expression makes it
in vain, impossible to sustain, and we jade.
Eliot wrote, we shall not cease from exploration,
but I must admit there's a growing temptation.