What can be said of mathematics
that heavenly theoretic, pure of human taint
a moon we look upon from afar
distant and distorted, can only touch its reflection

And below that rippling surface, another world rages under
Mammon’s poison, scarce lizard impulses

We fleshy mortals sandwiched between the Platonic and Plutonic
yearning for a taste of the divine, a kiss
must sip at muddy waters, must wrestle what lies beneath