The universe (so Phys.Rev.Lettrists say)
may soon eschew its insolently flat
phenomenology of fiat fact
to gracefully inflate some theorist.
However, this year's models seem to need
a context for our world: our cozy four
dimensions are mere superficies,
and calculated mass values are vast.
We float as rainbows do, no more, mirage
of lightest mist on ground we never touch:
Yet rainbows explicate the harmonies
hidden within the power of the sun;
Sing we in chords for love, and hope we shine
to spread some joy to whom we cannot see.