COMMODIUS VICUS A streaming essence draws within its ax' Some logarithmic maelstrom's whirling sand, And time slows down while'st gravity does wax, And all who "know" perceive space to expand. Yet at the center of this blackened bay, Time's arrow has reversed its forward pace And backwards goes the movie we will play - Depicting some young Nova nabbing space! Oh are we doomed fore'er to re-embark Upon this saga from which none escapes? Or do we form some quantum of a quark Ensuring grander particles their shapes? Pray help me, Muse, align these scattered thoughts And so divine the paths from naughts to oughts.