“To Make These Views as Diverse as Possible”

This cosmos, this poem that can
Draw out to infinity
The possibilities of
Cacophony and chaos,

White weather blurring white peaks,
Dark peaks sinking into dreams,
Dark dreams lying in the lake
That once held a trough of ice.

A body that’s not dead yet
Remains one of the body’s
Six or seven favorite things.
The others it leaves behind.

Belief is not in error,
If religion is a trick.
Belief owes its existence
To the success of such tricks.

Very few cars on the road
In time of plague, in the snow,
And then the cosmos changes
That then into long ago.