Ether, Gregory Crosby

Invisibility is the only proof:
the essence in the chalk,
the quintessence in the eraser.

Electricity seeks a conductor.
So many ones & zeroes tune up,
the orchestra hears the symphony

before it plays a note.
The medium is the movement.
Our tongues, our type.

We wore our typefaces out.
We crossed an ocean of light.
We closed the distance

on a web of ebb, tide.
Drawn together, first as particle
first as wave. There can be no

other explanation. Just because
you can’t see it (especially because
you can’t see it) doesn’t mean

it isn’t there—

(Naturally, this is where
the patent clerk, astride his bicycle,
rides between us)