As bleary theory grasps the class,
a physicist defines the mass.

His fervent sermon starts with light,
conceiving space in timeless night,
then leads disciples in a song:

how Ptolemy was wrong so long,
from primal myths in torchlit caves
through galaxies, detected waves.

Empirically, my mind agrees
with whatsoever science sees
and most conjectures evidenced.

But still, I have this haunting sense
so much escapes our knowing now,
despite confirming where and how
the laws of nature legislate.

And, at that point, I hesitate
to claim we could observe the whole.
I leave in peace in search of soul.