Invisibility is the only proof:
the essence in the chalk,
the quintessence in the eraser.
Electricity seeks a conductor.
So many ones & zeroes tune up,
the orchestra hears the symphony
before it plays a note.
The medium is the movement.
Our tongues, our type.
We wore our typefaces out.
We crossed an ocean of light.
We closed the distance
on a web of ebb, tide.
Drawn together, first as particle
first as wave. There can be no
other explanation. Just because
you can’t see it (especially because
you can’t see it) doesn’t mean
it isn’t there—
(Naturally, this is where
the patent clerk, astride his bicycle,
rides between us)
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