Ten planes exhaled contrails, painting someone’s property lines across a sky we thought was ours. The sun surfaced, and a checkerboard shadow carved the city into hundredths before the lattice loosened and masked itself as clouds. Now we walk divided, with memory imposed upon the moment, rays wandering a graph of absent shadow, hoping to sidestep felony as we move through these unknowable territories.
We Know the Atom Consists Primarily of Empty Space
But when the knife enters the trout,
there is not enough nothing in the blade
to spare the gills, not enough nothing
in the bright blood to keep the bucket water clear.