0 Poem by Hailey Leithauser

Philosophic
in its complex, ovoid emptiness,
a skillful pundit coined it as a sort
of stopgap doorstop for those
quaint equations

Romans never
dreamt of. In form completely clever
and discrete—a mirror come unsilvered,
loose watch face without the works,
a hollowed globe

from tip to toe
unbroken, it evades the grappling
hooks of mass, tilts the thin rim of no thing,
remains embryonic sum,
non-cogito.