Originally published in Tablet
This poem leaked from a lab, you said.
I said, the revealed world is an egg
whose mother we can never know.
A long life is consolation for what’s beyond us.
What does one have to do with the other, you said.
Chance is the divine skin and meaning the game
in which it is bruised.
Sounds nihilistic, you said, Juuling into augmented moonlight.
The ground littered with nests and shadows.
Nihilism is an enemy whose story you haven’t heard, I should have said.
But my strength vanished.
Let me go, you said.
And so I did.