Here's a nice poem I read recently. Strange Attractors /Robin S. Chapman/ How to find them, those regions Of space where the equation traces Over and over a kind of path, Like the moth that batters its way Back toward the light Or, hearing the high cry of the bat, Folds its wings in a rolling dive? And ourselves, fluttering toward and away In a pattern that, given enough Dimensions and point-of-view, Anyone living there could plainly see-- Dance and story, advance, retreat, A human chaos that some slight Early difference altered irretrievably? For one, the sound of her mother Crying. For this other, The hands that soothed When he was sick. For a third, The silence that collects Around certain facts. And this one, Sent to bed, longing for a nightlight. Though we think this time to escape, Holding a head up, nothing wrong, Finding a way to beat the system, Talking about anything else-- Travel, the weather, time At the flight simulator--for some The journey circles back To those stran