Holograms Dancing

We barely took any space, maybe a foot square, you placing my hands where they go and knocking my feet with your toes— who dances like this, anyway (as comets careen into their own ice)?   Your favorite story about me: I’m chained, at 3, to a tree. When you return, my uncle—fed up with my roaming in his oil—stilled …

Integrity

They rarely snapped apart, those French Gothic cathedrals, encrypting clotted earth as they sailed toward endless sky. Occasionally one collapsed, like Beauvais, from trying too hard, or, like Saint Maclou, cluttered and confused its lines, losing the impossible coupling of soil and sun. But most, hunkered down, buttresses flying, opened their core to rainbowing light as they set about piercing …