The Moonlight Strummer

A pale imitation of the moon Strumming the strings of its light casually In seemingly unwavering lines through a disk of Two dimensions onto my three Like Columbus imposing his world on the world Illuminating the room, with indifference to Science or my prose or poetry Or my ambivalence as to the character of my words As my hand, skin tinged by the Earth and the Sun’s arrangement Clutches the jaundiced page And my mind, in awe of Earth and Sun And Science and Light, struggles to count Like a lost driver on a lonely moonlit black-blue highway The coordinates of its home on the x, y, and z planes And beyond Of this mammoth matrix stretching far beyond All horizons, every vertex, anything we can see or imagine And one understands that this is a proof But what it proves proves uncertain Except for those who believe, it is knowledge And for those who do not know, it is belief And for those who do not believe, it is a fantasy But a fantasy they should wish to believe