Each day we bear the rumble
the force of every question, every soul
the hint of scale that breaks the mind
the surf that crashes over what it slowly conquers
One billion are but tiny words
beside the ocean boiled thick.

Each day we deal in numbers
They’re what we need to keep us sane
To hold the river in our mind
Out of our lungs where it will crush us
Forming shields, a safe abstract
domain of mastery
The road traversed down from the heights
where eyes hold distant peaks.

Each day our words afford us play
to risk the greater wagers
The thoughts and sins from which
We are unable to repent
The motions we can not prevent
The sea, she is not infinite, except in these
poetic ruminations
Reductionistic calculations
flip the image mirror-like
and sample waves and beads of surf
thrown out into the air
Holy and exquisite gifts
Lavish and unaccounted for
By copper wire, strands of glass,
or tangled webs of synapse.