Reading Lucretius

this twenty-first century morning makes me

a Roman meditating a thousand years ago

On the Nature of Things, a universe

without gods, made from very small particles,

eternal motion colliding, swerving in new directions.

 

This poem was inspired by reading The Swerve: How the World Became Modern. For a more in-depth version of my thoughts on all this, see “On the Nature of Things” on my Weekends in Paradelle blog.

 

 

 

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