Vaunt Over Mea

The peak floats, since it’s there,
Since it’s conjured, and clouds

Are alabaster stone
And marble beneath it.

All the patterns were wrong.
There never were such laws.

You live in a merry
World full of typos now,

And no one cares, no one
Cares what to care about—

At last, you’ve freed yourselves
Of the imprisoning

Conviction that all things
Had to be just this way

For your cosmos to be
One in which you exist.

Laugh at those floating fields
Of glaciers, at your own

Optional gravity.
It never had to be.