Beauty That Demands a Verdict

They speak in calculations
surrounding space with suffocating distance
but it is dead data
detached from all this life
and standing statuesque
imposing by suggestion
bare facts to be
our necessary end.
They quantify our bodies
make statistics of our loves
as if the graphs will satisfy
a thirst for purpose.
we allow it
we watch the watercolors drip
and slip from canvas to the floor
our work dissolves and colors mix
to shades of sterile silver.
But it is ours-
we made these things
when irises were blooming
before Sparta conquered Athens
the extravagant frivolity of goodness
filled our veins and
shot through every limb.
We thrived on loaves
which could not be counted
and what began as
just a few small fish
Back then the sparkle of a snowflake
spoke theology, ontology
before the scientific spear
had severed all connections
We were whole in such uncharted ways
as can no ledger now express.
The residue remains like gold dust
falling on the laboratory floor
which they will sweep away
as it interferes with progress
but that too is ours
the remnant of the beauty
that demands a verdict.