We’ll take a break from The Numbers and share a poem or two. This particular poem was published in a lit mag by the name of Malevolence a few years back.
While covering familiar ground on a luminous night,
I happened upon a poppy which had spun itself
Into a tight little roll to guard against
The influence of moon and stars.
And I stopped to consider this problem,
A problem of will and desire. But I found
No solution, and left myself wishing
That the poppy would spread its full beauty
And give passion to the night.
But it was not in the code. The next morning
I saw the poppy unraveled by the sun,
Predictably pleasing, in fulfillment of all expectation—
But much too obvious; the colors
Washed; the display uncomfortable.
And again I found myself wishing that somehow
The programming could be disrupted for one moment
And that the poppy would silently withdraw from the sun,
To wait in joyful anticipation of the thrill
In surrendering beauty to moonlight.