Slow down sun you are too swift,
we cannot grasp your emanations.
Gamma specks from the alpha mock your power.
Can your magnetic radiance bend them to the curve of space?
Or will the tangent of strings forever define us?
Bits of yarn, silly string, infinitesimal things,
all is made of vibrating nothings; this alone exalts we
by sheer ego must have something to exist within and digest our way through,
even if it is for a short time underwritten by a trembling crystal of cesium,
the gong is struck by untouchable, irreversible radiation.