careening the marbled mind down mathematical koans:
What is the sound of 18 million miles clapping
82,818,537 kilometers away? Sunset compresses
far below our feet, first lights of the Bay Bridge create
a silver river below, my daughter’s hair trails uncombed.
She grumbled her way up the hill and now she’s a conduit
of wonder and light. We witness this faint white comma
split the space where space should be, a miracle of dust and ice,
as if we were planet and star, Venus and Arcturus,
thrust briefly into the illusion of coming close,
collapsing the distance between mother and child.
Tsuchenshan-ATLAS, offspring of the Oort Cloud,
for whom does this comet come, if not for us?