Sand insinuated herself. ZaumZoom in,
she has gone ahead. ZoomTzim out,
     she is not behind. To hear,
in her
gourd, her mallet-fall, a relation
to emptiness, finest
gauze, so finely
          woven even the strands
                   appear to disappear.

          Harry Soot believes he is watching.
          Harry thinks he is in Times Square.
          He is. She is not.