Faith

With the seal of science

emblazoned

on your forehead,

like the old Good Housekeeping

Seal of Approval,

I believe what you tell me

about cells and molecules,

though I can't see them.

And though the language you speak

is full of numbers and symbols

I'll never understand;

though your tie is askew

and your hair unruly, still I believe

what you say about the size of the universe,

which is either expanding or contracting,

I've forgotten which already.

So if tomorrow you tell me

you made a small miscalculation,

that God indeed created the world

in 6 short days, then rested on the 7th,

that it was Eve who landed us

in all this trouble, I would believe you.

I would believe you

as I've always done before.