Still no Shape

Great to

connect… great to connect… Can everybody see the

slide? There is

no slide.

Blue light

on the empty table,

every chair has something to say.

Names in boxes,

lines in circles,

nothing at the centre yet.

One more deck,

one more thread,

one more diagram instead.

Still no shape,

still no name—

but the minutes look immaculate.

What are we building?

What are we building?

The signal rolls around the room,

comes back wearing someone else’s words.

Great to connect.

Great

to connect.

The Pond man turns a silver wheel,

water climbs the windowpane.

Every cable finds a system;

every system asks again.

Ninety-two times round the mountain,

past the coffee, through the cloud—

destination pending softly,

unplugged footsteps running loud.

(Align… sync… circle back… perhaps we need a

smaller

group.) An eye appears inside a porthole,

green and wide and listening.

A parrot points towards the answer—

every segment says “begin.”

Four hundred slides, four hundred blanks,

tiny suits around the banks.

Someone measures one spring roll.

Someone certifies the plan.

Tell

us

what you’re building. Tell us what you’re

building. Still no shape.

Still no name.

Great to connect.

One more day.

Tell us

what you’re building.

Tell

us what you’re— …building?

The dog sleeps beneath the cables.

Rain moves softly through the glass.

One small frog records the action:

“Question

carried forward.”

Great to connect…

great to connect…

Same blank slide tomorrow.