Is there anything that moves forward
without moving forward ever faster—
what is it like for her, the shy opera student poised in the park to sing, the neon joggers arrowing around her like lasers.
«Como si el virus hubiese heredado la energía caótica de la revuelta, o como si la revuelta se hubiese anticipado pavimentándole el camino, el descontrol de la naturaleza nos fuerza a ampliar la mirada, a situarnos arriba, en el Wenu Mapu, [...]
junto a nuestros antepasados que
todo lo ven, y desde ahí observarnos como parte
de un gran colectivo, de un universo orgánico
que no gobernamos. Cayeron las estatuas
de nuestros supuestos próceres y con ellas
nuestra soberbia controladora, [...]
afternoon; predicts black holes where parallel lines
will meet, whose stark horizon even starlight,
bent in its tracks, can’t resist. If we can think
this far, might not our eyes adjust to the dark?
Hawking, Stephen
Relativity
When we wake up brushed by panic in the dark
our pupils grope for the shape of things we know.
Photons loosed from slits like greyhounds at the track
reveal light’s doubleness in their cast shadows
that stripe a dimmed lab’s wall—particles no more—
and with a wave bid all certainties goodbye.
For what’s sure in a universe that dopplers
away like a siren’s midnight cry? They say
a flash seen from on and off a hurtling train
will explain why time dilates like a perfect