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  • Hannah Hinsch

The Physicist



Glacial air fogs your glasses—

I see you, perched atop, stakes

in blue frozen ground to measure

kinematic waves, trans: the way

ice moves

over years.

Slid into blue air, white-haired

snow-bird, you heed a throated call

to number, track atomic impact

over gray shores and rain-wet jungles

greater than

the speed of sound.

Variable wave number

and angular frequency fly

to frigid skies in ski-footed

helicopters—you, left to the sight

of your own warm

breath, as it

remains.

You remain, wandering

equations in the margins

70x7, number and word—

palimpsests

melt to green

inside each

footfall.

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