I’m listening to you, to all
The things we left unsaid.
To the crackling of the static
And the creaking of your bed.
I’m measuring the distance
Between us. Between now and
Back then, but the numbers
Come back null, and
Schrödinger’s Cat is
{Half}-[Dead.]
God does not play dice.
A beam of light splits.
Photons everywhere at once,
Nothing exists.
Tangible until we touch
Sweet until I taste.
Beautiful on paper,
In lieu of time and place.
But when we come together,
Our bodies lose their shape.
Everything reduced to
Electron haze.
Is there something beneath us,
Anything at all?
Some fundamental framework
To catch us if we fall?
If we had closed our eyes,
Together, last Summer,
Would time itself have stalled?
{God does not exist} [But God does not play dice.]
{And nothing’s set in stone.} [A blood vessel bursts.]
{Our atoms are entangled, love,} [The pressure is too much,]
{I’ll see you back at home.} [And out everything spurts.]
Zachary Joseph, ’26