BINARY

1 0 8 Y B I N A R Y R O B E R T M O R G A N Two yellow butterflies go all around above the weeds, across the road, along the edge of trees. They’re up and down, beside, askew, but always equidistant as though tethered, in a flight or in a dance. They ricochet and then reciprocate; they fall and flit aside, like twins or planets caught in mutual fascination. We know this is a ritual of courtship, mating minuet, these flowers that spin like particles at love or matter’s deepest core. ...