(Vector)

In a life below decks in a great ship, windowless, butterflies in lamplight are moving as they move. Fish swim indifferently inside their bowl, two men toss a ball, each to each, as the ship speeds, head- long ahead, and nothing's driven back to the stern since to go with this motion is to be moored in port. From the tallest mountain at the mind’s white pole a cannon fires its charges into space, progressive speed, till one ball, by falling, flies, by flying, falls. Now the surfer catches a wave of frozen light and rides it motionless to an impossible shore where he reckons sand the particles of his path: and twins, one traveled from earthbound earth, the other staying home, meet again after years, each to the other younger from when he left. The cat in its dire box keeps equally live and dead, the poison released, should hammer shatter flask when the atom decays, which it may not, or it may. You, who chose two ways equally at once, circuit the conferences, meetings fueled by enigma, mixing with the eminent and their sidereal regard, your morning Masses before library and lab. All outcomes must be possible in the system—Schrödinger. In your life's chosen box, this con-celebration.