If they come your way, if they favor you, if they pile up in drifts for you, be grateful,
Be ever so grateful. If they abandon you, you can't hold it against them.
They're numbers, dreams that have no moral; they don't exist for you
The way that wealth and other phenomena counted by them do. They aren't
Other than a cloud of evoked rules and outcomes, crazy gorgeous, refined,
More alien to your lumbering nature than any extraterrestrial that eats would be.
The universe filled with them has not become one whit heavier, lighter.
They are an invisible world perfectly parallel to everything of your own
And, if they should, mysteriously, favor you, everything that you will own.
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