The reminder of triangles is no knowledge
                                                                    at all
but radicals set free in a book, promiscuous geometry you
might say, and reading it
decide there's no limit
to the places and people of the family we repeat
by shape and speech, whose fronts have backs
                                                                        that linger
"Nothing out of nothing" is the first resemblance
we admit, in the leisure of cells' calculation, longing to arrive
at true north only to find it bitterly makeshift—
a spot on which a tenuous man
                                                     fingers parallelograms
reminiscent of triangles with hats on