Casita Kamo’oalewa

Your room becomes a moon
Of its own when it glows
In direct morning sun,

Doing what all moons do,
Catching the relayed waves,
From eight minutes away

In the room’s case, bouncing
Them back a little ways,
Photons dancing on space.

Reflections, reflections,
Neurons only handle
So much indirectly,

And, still further removed,
Frayed reflections jostle
Through exceptional points,

Nonreciprocal flocks
Now, quasiparticles,
Quasisatellites, mind.