Lavoisier—
Can you compute
The Patio de los Leones,
Mosque of Alhambra?
We’ll number the columns
That plunge from the arches
That lead to the stone heart at the center,
The fountain of lions—
And these too we count,
Measure the falling light,
Shadow, geometry, maze,
Gold-covered filigree, each
Hollow a part of the cosmos
Of number.
Dust of the lions has smeared on my hand,
Darkened my tunic, my bed sheets,
My fingerprints smudged on my ledgers,
More waste in my wasted house.
Can this too be measured and weighed?
Down to each molecule, atom,
And even within, to the energies,
And then to the spaces of nothingness?
What is the number of nothingness?
Wait—I will measure.