Now it gnawed at me like a hungry ghost,
The question of similarity, of partial change,
Of incomplete transformation. Body moved
Between rooms that were never the same
But recognizably incompletely changed.
An old, easy assumption no longer obtained.
It was never the case that some part altered
While the rest remained, never exactly,
Because the minutest examination found
In every finest sliver of revenant a change,
Down to the subatomic particles and waves,
Cut along the asymptotic approach to zero
Elapsed time. Imagine the spacetime curve
A rippling silk scarf, floating through the air
At the summons of an illusionist begging
You to cut that scarf somewhere, anywhere,
With the shiniest pair of fabric shears.
Every time you cut it neatly, wherever you cut,
A bright line appeared and the scarf fell
In halves, only to reappear as a whole.
Attacked in a frenzy of scissors, a blizzard
Of rainbowed silk confetti, each and every
Cut at every conceivable angle gleamed
With the same transient line, but all one,
Not even a remaining seam. Time after time
Was all those divisions, one after another,
And the seamless scarf that floated
In the seeming space created already again.
Something remained unchanged despite
The all-pervasive change. What I couldn’t say.
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