Life fizzes like a firework into the night, releasing spores of coloured lights that quickly die as they fall to the ground. This is fizzics. Metafizzics, on the other hand, transcends the firework: it relates to the hand that ignites the fuse. It schweppes us along with cascading, breaking bubbles, each one alert to its own brevity and observing that of others around it with a curious inwardness.  The realm of metafizzics is also that of poetry and theology. If it loses some of its fizz, shake the bottle well before use.