The end of things
Driven by some intelligence
Beyond our ken
Proves, says Thomas
There is an intelligence
Beyond our grasping
The fifth proof of
An existing God
That tumbersault mind
Happily lands on two feet —
Taking applause
Arms outstretched
Bowing from waist
Bouquet arriving at stage —
Design, the end
Precedes beginning
You are because what
You are doing adds up.
Go ahead, factor origin
Divided by duration
Equaling destination halved
And how’d by quotient
Division without a divide
Positing a whole over parts
I was never good at math
Nor logic, the good is
Only only as good as the
Included bad, embracing
Choicelessness, unknown
Whims, necessary faults
All (it is said) of a piece
(Pieces broken on ground)
God, they say, will reconstruct
Refashioning integrity despite
Shards and pieces and debris.
The compute, the calculation
Factors back within the scattered
Pieces— all of them, regathered.
The ergo, as Cummings wrote
