The imperfection of a Taylor series almost broke my interest in physics –
I wanted things to be like this:
always finding the exact answer to everything.
Clean. Not messy.
Alas, that is not the way!

We want answers, oh yes we do.
But the Universe doesn’t just give them up
and even when it does
sometimes we don’t have the right words.
(as if that’s not a metaphor for life)

So we’re stuck, slowly pushing the boundary –
a derivative here, a coefficient there.
The slow progress is an act of mindfulness
and acceptance
of imperfection.

How I wanted the perfect language
to worship you –
you expansive, expanding (accelerating!) Universe.
How you have denied me it
or so I’m told.

The mathematicians say
they have proven it.
And I secretly, very secretly
hope one day to settle in comfort
knowing their truth:

The real Universe is, well,
kind of a messy place.
And so should be the language
we use to embrace it,
with love.