The Poetry of Science as it Pertains to Magic and the Mysteries of Life

In blueberry sky, an awesome stroke

of lightning, a jagged string,

connecting treetops to heavens

for an instance.  

Time uses the brush of science

to paint explanation

on the canvas

of our mind.  

What was once scary

is now electricity,

a static shock

between our lips

when I wear wool socks.  

Put down your spears,

hunters,

the sky is not God.  

And science is not the absence

of God.  

Thunder comes next,

a roar,

to which gatherers listen,

collecting under roof,

awaiting the rainfall.