Only Surprise Survives

All magic is prediction.
All prediction is magic.
Whatever fails falls away,
Tenuous soil eroding
Bit by flood into the stream.
Whatever succeeds endures,
Gold glow exposed, enriching

Those who know where to seek it,
Before it, too, falls away
With its black magic attached.
Astrologers' eclipses,
Predicted, made gods of men,
Before making fools of them.
Found science of conjecture

Now's hammered in great gold sheets,
Gleaming, vast, whole domes of math,
Awing the innumerate peasants
Who come to barter their lives
For tools and toys that amaze.
The stars, old news, still renew
The alchemy of surprise.