God Of The Synapse, God Of The Gap Poem by Adam Hoagland

With our myriad ‘scopes at ready, men explore the enigmatic,
And no feature of all nature dodges focused, sharpened prod;
When our models and equations push electrons, we’re ecstatic,
When they fail, we bow and consecrate the question marks to God.

If the devil’s in the details, then the Lord must dwell in margins,
(for unknowns persist, ineffable, as breakthroughs wax and wane ;)
Doing slight-of-hand with space-time, playing peek-a-boo with protons,
Whipping zealots into fervor, driving physicists insane.

As we hasten to hypothesize, we never stop to pause; Perchance
One grand all-purpose theorem wasn’t really meant to be;
Our God of Gaps would rather “Alleluias! ”s to “Ah-hah! ”s, and hence
No atheists in foxholes and no saints at MIT.

(- ARH,11/12/10. Nothing personal against MIT; it just rhymes and casts the desired image.)