Night sky is like a spreadsheet, a set of conditions,
cloudbanks, dust, dirt, lumen lights,
like a cell, every twinkle star holding a value,
each value records brightness.
You want to store this in secrets.

Memories are products of formulas
of derivation upon derivation,
of stories pieced together across the hole,
single circles are in an ever-circling form.
As if moments are an ascent, an unstoppable rise.

Draw lines between evening and night
the unknown comets study a canon
not there in the curriculum courses,
the metaphor is too dark to touch,
a dream to catch, a target is nearing.

– Gopal Lahiri