A Theory of Everything
It has something to do with invisible string
rippling out across a universal sunset,
wrapping us up like the perfect brown corded package.
Something to do with the vibration of stars—
how they flicker in tune with each other, humming cosmically.
And though I’ve never seen this reported anywhere
I also believe it has something to do with dogs.
For who else has such capacity to forgive
an entirely other species? Well, yes, God
but I don’t mess around with God.
So in my theory, the wet nose of a dog
fits in the space where our heart has been cut out.
And after dogs, the pure yellow of lemons,
the affection small children hold for Band-aids, the urge
to touch a stranger’s bald head.
It all has a place in the Theory.
Name it and I will hang it on the clothesline.
Name it, I will chop it up for soup.
What’s not to believe, anyway, in a theory
that has room enough for all other theories,
even those that say this Theory is shit?
Sure, the vibration of strings we cannot measure.
And yes, the strings are so fine we haven’t seen them yet.
One might surmise that this is not about strings, but our desire for strings.
You too are welcome at this Party of Everything.
Come to my house, into my house. We will speak
of aqueducts and whiskers, we will eat
brown bread and touch our feet under the table.
You can tell me we are not connected,
that there is nothing out there holding us together.
I will tug your ear and peck you softly on the lips.