For every fact there is an infinity of hypotheses.
—Robert M. Pirsig, Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance
They sat at a table
too close to ignore.
I heard their words, phrases,
questions. Even when I
lost the meaning, a handful
of words drifted my way.
Quantum physics, the
curly haired man said.
Then his voice receded
into his coffee mug.
Uncertainty principle, words
sent out like an outrageous truth.
The uncertainty of memory
lasting, or losing chronology.
The certainty of ambiguity.
The interrogation of principles—
possible martyrdom or sacrifice.
But what of wave function?
I mumbled about the uncertainty
of sneaker waves or sleeper waves
running past the foam line—unpredictable,
and rogue waves carrying frigid passions.
God I heard one man say, does not play dice.
Einstein's words, I said.
Linda Watskin ©2010
Big Tent Poetry "Come One, Come all"