The Play of Water

Everything reducible gains
Beauty by enhanced measurement.
Yes, the beauty changes. Mist

On the cliffs is mysterious
In a way that crystalline
Sunshine on snow will never be.

But measurement didn’t invent
Change, and mystery can’t prevent
The endless changing of beauties.

Let the measurers measure, then.
You can want to not know without
Condemning lust for knowing. Points

That dance on the waves are not those
Descriptions that calculate them,
But description’s not subtraction.

It’s addition. It’s possible
There’s nothing but waves in the end.
So? Let the measures swim in them.