Be the Best Dark You Can Be

Physicists have an exact
Equation for the strong force
That binds the hearts of atoms,

But they can rarely solve it
For any specific case
Because it’s iterative,

Endlessly iterative,
So strange and iterative,
And scribes the core of matter.

What is it with this cosmos,
Its infinite tight packing
And stacking of its patterns,

Each one just a tiny bit
Other than the other ones?
It’s mirrors all the way out,

Where lopsided barbershop
Quartets of double-charm quarks
Sing for zillionths of seconds

Then echo their reflections
In symmetric directions,
Nearly forever, never

Exactly the same. You know
It could be a trick. You could
Be your singularity.