I attend a lecture by Professor Goff in an old hall

where he reveals the odds of our universe ever existing:

“astronomically low”—according to Smolin’s calculations 1 in 10229.

He argues this fine tuning demonstrates 

that some particular purpose is at work in the cosmos

which infuriates an elderly nihilist in the audience 

and prompts someone at the back to ask if it’s true 

dolphins have always known the meaning of life.

When the chaos subsides, I think of you in your prime, 

planting tomato seeds into trays, dropping them one 

by one into tiny drill holes, carefully covering with compost

and how you would have laughed if I had told you this story

and how you always felt lucky to have been born

and how your last word before dying was “love.”