Sand insinuated herself. ZaumZoom in,
she has gone ahead. ZoomTzim out,
she is not behind. To hear,
in her gourd, her mallet-fall, a relation
to emptiness, finest gauze, so finely
woven even the strands
appear to disappear.
Harry Soot believes he is watching.
Harry thinks he is in Times Square.
He is. She is not.