What great hand has held you,
you valuable instrument
that leaves dusts of wisdom
sprinkled on my hands,
giving me my inspiration?

Where you proud, small one,
when you saw your work –
his work, your work –
mapped out for the world to see,
a revelation of grandeur?

I hold you comfortably,
two fingers, three for balance,
but the whole world has rested
in the grip you gave
and the equations you spelled out.