Summer 2008 • Vol. XXX No. 3 PoetryJuly 1, 2008 |

At Camp Galileo

Newton's rotten heart has yet to fall from the tree, and the Earth has just begun to orbit the sun, the sun just becoming the center of the universe. The children are reclining on benches with their laptop computers, and God is still a mystery. How like God to be still, a mystery. The orbit of moons, heft and heresy:all seems explainable here. And the children seem content learning the fine Art of subterfuge, of silence and the ability to plot. It is lunchtime or the time just after lunchtime. And it will be a good two hours before the parents begin arriving. The children here believe they can chart the course of God in the sky better than they can the motion of the spheres. And Einstein, he is not yet a shadow under the great oak tree, not even a shadow. Out on Brotherhood Way, the traffic moves with the regularity of comets, with the regularity of counselors who circumnavigate to spy on each of their pupils. Their shadows are small in this light, their shadows close-cropped and cl

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C. Dale Young is the author of three collections of poetry, most recently Torn (Four Way Books, 2011). A recent Guggenheim Fellow in Poetry, he is a 2013 Fellow of the Rockefeller Foundation. He lives in San Francisco, California, and practices medicine full-time.

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