In John Martin's Bridge Over Chaos Poem by jim hogg

See the juggler on the high street
(he has wings, had electrons for his lunch)
without effort, without thought,
in the patterns practice forged
from desire, from our need
The coin toss that holds
the future in its fall
(it’s on strings,
has whole galaxies in thrall) .
The very little things
that seem to know no rules
to limit all the links
that all our knowledge is
(it’s just a game and the game
Is the naming of things)

as, sneakily without rest,
mostly beyond our sight
(I mean the sight we choose) ,
chaos builds from chaos
incomparable design,
terrifying certainty
the ground on which we stand
(the gods we fly,
the myths we drive)
will suddenly collapse,
into a quantum madness
we’ll all be trapped inside
or total understanding
(fog so sweet and blinding
like birdsong in a dream?)
that can never be expressed –
or utter separation
perched on swaying principles
above a foaming world,
alone,
within the panic of
the end of all control...