When you want to be the only owner
of something, keep the way to get it
a secret. Start with geometry: deny
parabola, if applicable. Insert
the inapplicable: sea winds, all
terrestrial properties of uselessness, charted
temperatures for the last century
in the Congo. Elk migration, Irish
migration, Greenwich Mean Time, cloud
formation, morning dew, river over
the banks, sun over the shoulder. Turn
three times into the wind if northerly; adjust
telescope accordingly. In the event
a bright young thing in petticoats determines
it all – the comet’s graceful swing
around Jupiter, a uniform velocity indisputable, her math
a wonder upon butcher’s paper, papering her attic
walls, her parabolas’ intersection beyond
contention – point out she’s a girl, disappear
yourself. Your work here is done.