If what Nature
just cannot stand is
a vacuum,
how come a man
most abhors
her redundancies—
earth's messy multiplicities
which breed free
endurance,
or guaranteed
survival of the most
blessedly anonymous,
or, worst of all,
the sophistication pre-
supposed of the oblique?
Instead of trusting
in processes, why is he
repulsed
by the repetitions
which console against
chronic incoherence?
Do he fear
these varieties
obscure the one angle
from which he both
views the truth clear—
and survives it?