What if that pretty, pocketable knot of knowing,
E equals mc squared, had turned out as correct
And profound, but barren, all but purposeless
For any further insights or experiments?
Such has been the case of the Price Equation,
A matryoshka of covariance capturing
Change by evolution, a crucial subspecies
Of change (one far more creative than time,
Those pulsing changes that we find so useful
For measurement and comparison of other
Changes, as, say, evolution). Nearly compact
As Einstein’s gem but needing no constant,
It revealed all and then, like its discoverer, fell
Silent. To stare at it, unpack it, and reassemble
Its proof, like a blindfolded recruit reassembling
A rifle, is to feel fingers in the mind deftly juggling
The retroactive algorithm, useless and divine,
The exact algebraic description of the poem
That has no origin, no final item, no smallest atom,
No prime mover at bottom, causation undefined.
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