I am interluding from the fênix serial with some selfie portraiture, old and new.
sky blue air
I seek a sunlit place where I will breathe again.
It lies beyond the end of my imagination,
and before the incomprehensible begins.
I wore the clothes she gave me,
I did my best and worst.
By reflection and refraction,
I hid within the whisper light.
If you sleep inside a fridge, you must not close the door;
soft machines must walk the path beside the sea.
Semiconductor junctions, garden hoses
spraying water over fences
while the sun hides nuclear fusion angels.
the queen of science
Integro-differential equations, my first and ever true,
in the days when mathematics was my queen,
my algebraic illusion.
When you left, I let you go, I didn’t tell you.
My goodbye was a silent closed-path integration
on a pulsing cardioid, a regression to infinity,
and now I only have my pride, my solitude,
and my C++ compiler.
- there is a limit to what we can imagine, or dream of
- soft machines appeared in the stray branch
- extract from Chapman and Cowling’s foundational work “The Mathematical Theory of Non-Uniform Gases,” The University Press (1953)
- figure from Cyril Bibby’s classic “Simple Experiments in Biology,” Heinemann (1961)
- mathematics is the queen of the sciences