Black Holes

On the last day of class 

My physics professor ends with a poem 

By Walt Whitman about how he lives 

In the world of words and the sky is something distant and beautiful

My professor thinks he’s saying that the language of science and math are totally different 

And makes the argument that 

Math and science are a language of beauty

That makes up the beauty everywhere 

And in this profundity he is smiling 

Telling us about black holes and stars an expansive universe 

And I want to tell him desperately after class 

Though I decide to go because our time together has ended 

I think in his misunderstanding 

He has understood the poem perfectly