Particle
We’ve got you, you bastard!
You elusive son of a gun,
You mass-giver, you condensed,
Convoluted mess.
You enigma.
You liar.
You tricksy little blighter.
You impregnable poem:
Shared, breached, read.
I’ve tried to figure out
How you might look
Before we remove that mask.
But all metaphors fail me —
Is that even a head?
You’re being pushed back
Forced into the corner
Through our high-precision manoeuvres
In a tunnel of kilometres.
Yet everywhere is yours,
Beyond what we can or cannot see.
For now the collisions have paid off
Like some kind of insurance.
What we thought we knew
Seems, almost, so true.
