Esse est percipi (to be is to be perceived)

The weakest link in the chain of being
Makes no lasting connections-

Through some set of instructions, like a recipe
My grandmother warned me
As most Norwegians do
Pick your battles,
She was no warrior but always got her way.

My daughter asked me why I gave her
Such unruly hair
I explained entanglement,
like genetics.

My son wondered if his absent father cared about him
I explained how black holes devour every event
Near their horizon-
Light cannot escape.

I listen to my mother every week
on the line-long distance,
and remind myself that gravity
cannot be forced to become
stronger or weaker-
here
-without proximity.

All the unfinished pieces I call quanta
Have been spinning, gathering, and weaving
Adams this evening,
I listen to strings beings played
somewhere in the distance
making music with wasted energy and vice versa
to feel harmonious.

My grandfather sings this one verse
Spin the tail of the Ouroboros-
Watch him chase his legacy,
Ask him where he is going
He does not say Entropy,
His mouth is full of chaos.
Spin, spin, spin the tales
O wee world weaver.

Now
It makes sense,
This is coherence

as a theory of relativity.

Photo By Fred C. Palmer (died 1936-1939) (Photograph of original postcard) [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.