Catherine Hales

quantum sonnet

the non-relation of points in space; yet
the very fact of their existence posits
some sort of relationship, even if
it is to ignore each other completely. such is

the bravura of a simple life, attracting
the kind of criticism that tends to come
with the territory; the macchiavellian turn
without the sweetener of a smile across the table;

surrendering to the dumb logic of symbols
scored in stone; & the existential need
to exorcise ghosts, especially those in boxes.

god is like schroedinger's cat, you say,
& point to the play of light across the wall;
the door closing with some degree of grace