In the beginning there was a void, stasis, dimensionless. I am a point, without size taking form only in motion, so too the seat on which I sit on United flight 951 not going from point A to point B for neither can exist in motion transcending time.
Each decision sets one me on a path, into a dimension, dimensions while I tread a different path and I a third, yet I have seen the step ahead before having been on its path as all random walks must cross endlessly. The universe grows crowded with exponential me’s creating paths, and so must expand, until we cross and in some minuscule amount contract the cosmos.
Often I seek pain to slow the pace, or pleasure to quicken it, always immutable. I have learned all of this in my endless search for my paradoxical twin who prefers the accelerated pace, moving as quickly as possible, who looks younger at each intersection. Good night Albert.
First Appeared in Afterthoughts (Canada), Vol. 2, No. 4, Autumn 1995.
If you set aside the small fact that earth is the only inhabitable planet it’s fairly clear the cosmos gave us a surprisingly bad deal when the cards were dealt. It’s true that Mercury and Venus got no moons, but it wouldn’t much matter for they can see a sun we can’t begin to imagine, huge and ever-present. Even Mars, bloody warrior planet it is, got two, and it got gypped in the grand scheme. From there is a wealth and you can be sure Jovians and Saturnians hardly know which way to look to see a moon rise and set. But we have the one, and it is frankly rather boring, its primary claim to fame being that it is just the right size to blot out the sun every now and again, but the sun never seems amused and quickly returns.
I want to tell her to look up
into the night sky and imagine
the stars are forming pictures
just for her alone, and what she sees
is what the cosmos intended all along.
She laughs when I say this,
says, the pictures were all taken
a thousand years ago
and given names, like Orion
and Cygnus, the Ursas.
I tell her that I see
many other things in the sky,
and when she presses me
for examples I point to what
she calls Orion’s belt.
What do you see, she demands,
and I pause, then say, ellipses.