Mining the Higgs Boson, or Overstating Yesterday

It’s safe to assume

you’re observant.

Beyond the

Sherlockian.

There's a grain of sand

that’s missing from the beach.

Or maybe it’s neurosis.

The ocean’s lost a drop

since last July.

It’s not only where we

vacay. You’re a savant

in our own backyard:

Our maple’s bereft

of a leaf. One less seed

for the grandkids.

An attosecond less

of raking.

When I mention

we don’t have offspring,

you speak of eggs

& sperm, the odds

of forming zygotes,

how living's

sextillion-to-one.

We take a morning

amble to St. Matthew’s,

inspect the lonely plot

we bought online.

It's a nanometre

deeper than they said.

When I say that this is

good, that we’re getting a

bit of a bargain, you insist

that we are not,

that you were simply

rounding off, it’s actually

even worse.

We’ll never hear

the rustle

when she visits,

the lamenting from

our eldest, lost as

embryo, her sob the sound

of scintilla

snagged in air.

Andreas Gripp

November 16, 2025

RF Image