What little we have ever understood
is like an offering we make beside the sea.
It is pure worship when pursued
as its own end, to find out. Mystery,
the undiminishable silent flood,
stretches on out from where we pray
round the clear altar flame. The god
accepts the sacrifice and turns away.
"Science" by Ursula K. Le Guin, from Finding My Elegy: New and Selected Poems 1960-2010.
h/t: The Writer's Almanac
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