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May, 2021

Now that we are so close

to knowing how many

angels can dance on the

head of a pin,


he’s gone to Cerne to

discover how many particles

can do the same. Or share.

Or are the same. Why not?


What after all is an angel

but the particle unseen inventing

dance, leaping inside this unmoved

table-top, sustaining with no


complaint today’s groceries,

due library books, a laptop,

boots in need of polish,

an empty bottle of wine.


Indeed, I miss him.

Not his delicate knowledge,

not his hands investigating

mine, but the frothing particles


of his flesh, which daily

create and un-create him

in ways so recognizable

the dance of his being


smites me.

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