What was it they said about matter being part of an orchestra? —
being strings like the violin’s?
Eavesdropping is an art, but I’m sure they talked physics —
about everything being made of strings, not dots,
and that these confounding things, through a magical tunnel are shot,
till wham! — mad scientists find God, or Higgs Boson.
Wait — Higgs boson? — Who’s he? That makes no sense;
It must be till they find his (God’s) cousin.
I listened intently from my mound with the flattened grass,
where the sun covered my back & kissed my right cheek,
though it kissed me so eagerly the cheek tingled in a minute,
and I may have been distracted then as I shaded it.
But I was determined to get the gist of their talk after that,
and challenge it was, what with bees inspecting me for nectar,
mid-sky gnats perfecting choreography in swarms; and above them,
squirrels shaking nearby oak branches for dinner,
and for the little shrieking scamps’ pleasure.
Though scorched by the end of the talk, I felt somehow
wiser, and I had a vision of them, me, the gnats and the bees,
and all the other loafers in the park, making music:
Indeed, we seem one big Trinity-Bellwoods orchestra
in which some sing, some play guitar,
some swat flys, other’s balls,
some vibrate without saying a thing,
some play violin . . . and
the sqaubbling squirrels on tambourines
shake like they’re backing the Byrds,
for they seem to feel the truth of it:
We are musicians in a dynamic order.