The poets of Japan for centuries
Had heralded the music of the frog.
Frog voices, cherry blossoms — right up there.
With all that poetry, who needs a frog?
Who even needs to listen by the pond?
Along comes Basho with a whole new ear.
The voice? Been there, done that. He hears the
The magic works again. Apparently
My faith is not required. I know steel
Can’t float on air. And don’t “Bernoulli” me;
That explanation never sounds quite real.
No way will I believe that molecules
Of flimsy vapor can hoist solid mass
(Owing, allegedly, to arcane rules
That govern how they flow when they move fast).
Yet here we are aloft. There’s no denying
Some force or other got us off the ground.
Damn scientific truth, which keeps us flying
When dogma says we ought to be earthbound.