A cosmos can’t contain enough information
To generate that exact cosmos from itself.
If those red rocks hidden back of and beyond
The crawling suburban sprawl of irrigation
Sending wired runners south and down
From town had to be specified down to their
Subatomic vibrations, it was another, greater,
More complex universe those specifications
Came from. As with ideas of God, so also
With ideas of programmers and computations.
Positing something outside of this as creator,
As the intentional maker of all this never
Solves any complication. Imagination just
Sweeps away into entropy what can’t ever be
Fully recollected. But a body can drive out
And away until it reaches waves of dirt and there
It can watch the rocks angle into the last
Of the day and glow red. A body can argue
With its own dreams, reminding them they evolved
As a service to the brains of many wordless animals.
The light on the sand gathers dusk. Sleep
Will come for body as for all worlds sleep must.
Dreams should not be interpreted. Dreams
Have nothing to do with our worlds of words.
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