The New Mythmakers

Equations are made consistent and provable so they can tell us
this is what we are. This is time, this is space.

They say the universe is clogged with strings thrumming
along expanses of cold and black, or it is braided from particles

and moments, matter and minutes, no difference. They say
another universe will come, beating like a twin heart next to ours.

Or we are fabrics billowing and crashing into each other, or
we are one bubble of an infinity of bubbles. We are an acceleration,

or we are a slowing-down, and this is what we are. They hold the
mathematics and the models, and they spin and we
            listen.

I invent the language, and then I place the words here, and here,
and I tell you, this is a poem.

Miriam Jones