To define beauty as something half- remembered, between two or more worlds, simultaneously near and far, obliterating the ability to tell the difference between desire and machine. A glazed bowl of fruit in the morning light, falling inside the reflection of a sonnet. He eats a peach and hears music. To not define beauty – to let recognition fall at random, but always curling in the mind like a calico cat. Pollen drifting on a current, singing and falling. That which was once beautiful is now ugly and awkward. You are breathing, remembering its cuteness. But can you see the reflection of starlight in a skull? Words float in the ether between moments – listen and eat another piece of fruit.