Mobile, strict and tireless,
of which I ask the required questions.
Smiling, my sister instructs me.
Span in perpetuum, red and black
or black, red, and
would it matter, immobile?
Its path a few feet
above my head
unhinged to stasis,
groping to wonder:
natural currents of air.
Dense, elemental,
the fuse lies
some years away.
Again the physics
of a world I impose upon,
into which blankness intervenes.