Day 319 of 2025
“Auckland's Geometric Saturday Breath”
Saturday, halved —
Upper half: scattering.
Possibilities flung like cards across a table
nobody has wiped down yet.
Lower half: alignment.
The forks know where they go.
The planes depart on time.
The blue stays where you put it.
Between them: a seam of nothing,
the exact width of the Cook Strait,
which is also the exact width
of deciding not to decide.
All day the rectangles negotiate.
Red says stay. Yellow says go.
Blue says I was here before either of you
and I'll be here when you leave.
The gray holds everything
the way humidity holds a city:
without asking,
without letting go.