Release

Parmesan! Dubious, I agree, but you’ll grant it’s better than, say: parallax! Certainly for eggplant, and Parmesan doesn’t shame us with having forgotten something, or never quite learned what we should have in school, although some of us may experience bloating, pushing back from the trattoria table, our navel suddenly the knot of a helium balloon, though no more likely to float beyond the grasp of hands and sharp objects, saving, someday, maybe, the wandering beak of an albatross, whose path we might intersect later—how would we know—whose sharp eyes alas know well enough, the principle, easily triangulating the spacetime wedge, just as our own eyes know well enough, despite our care to keep fingers from the grater.