I am the serif. I speak in songs and participles.
I am the curve on a Möbius strip, waxing.
Waning, I am a pair of eyes through a lemniscate lens.
I am a sole person with a soul task. And, no,
I don’t have that backwards. I curve. I move
In on myself and out again. Growing older,
I find myself closer to the source. I see a
Great distance from where I am and where
I want to be. There’s math in my heart, while
My mind calculates the consequences of my
Feelings. And none of this makes me cold.
I wear abstraction like a blanket in winter.
Love makes people go “over the moon.”
But how would you get there without
Rocket science? I grow quiet at the thought.