His lines break our stilts
This blackened stork is balanced
With a single digit he divides a room
A corner around which we crane our necks
To catch a glimpse of this daring divider
We are caramelized with wonder
Charred man of dripping straw
Lingering inside certainty
As we hover in hoards
He tells curious entropic particles
"Keep traveling"
In a scale and language
That matches our own
First a net
Next an anchor
Now a compass
His index
Whittles the space
Reducing the roar of
Combatant mortality.
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