Flinders

Flying through almost nothing

toward a planet freshly imprinted

with Australopithecus tracks,

a photon takes one path if it is observed

by earthly instruments in 2002 C.E.,

another if it is not. Thus our current techno-futzing

determines the photon’s past.

Ruminating upon a world

slung between counterintuitive particles,

physicist John Wheeler postulates

that the cosmos beyond our perceived horizon

is a kind of cloud as yet unresolved,

that the universe exists only, he says,

“with somebody to look at it.”

Photons rain unobserved on Gustarz,

crouched at his first dig, sweating into

a crease in the dirt as he patiently makes it deeper.

Perhaps today he will unearth

yet another crushed oil lamp.

Everything they are here for, he thinks,

is fragmented, altered, spoiled, allusive—

except the blank sort-of-stela he found last week.

People lived here, his ancestors maybe,

but the tender parts are gone, the smells,

the sounds, the binding threads. Of course

he began with dreams of gold. Now he’d be

excited by a lousy unbroken pot.