p=m√

This moment is dead.

But your life is momentum.

It’s the only life you know:

Everywhere you look

Is exactly where you’ll go.

(Paying attention like a fine,

Sniffing out the muddied footprints of the divine.)

This ticket that you’re riding,

Fare-less and Free,

Is merely the impetus of your Desire

Conserved, unaffectedly

By any other force or sway

Upon your singular trajectory through time.

For Tatiana Iosifovna Doubro  who is ejected from planes and recites Pushkin by heart as she is flies through space.

Filed under: Math, new poetry, physics, poetry Tagged: math, Momentum, New Poetry, physics, poetry