Childish

We can’t advocate ignorance.
We wouldn’t exist in that bliss.
But we might suggest the childish
Embrace of what you can’t predict,

The sheer pleasures of daydreaming
Some implausible wonderful,
The perpetual excitement
Of the always unknowable.

You can cloak the world in numbers
And watch it shimmer as it moves,
And be thrilled prediction’s something
That you and your numbers can do.

But the world will still be the world,
And you’ll still be a fleck in it,
You, despite every last number.
That’s something you can count on, too.