Speck Bright insect inching across the firmament. First the shock front. Then the blast wind. Bodies fall like rags into an airless sea. Pixilation Tiny squares unite to divide. We see an ashen heap, but the seal is not complete. Here, a pair of legs alone. There a shoulder with its arm, and then the hand, fingers spread. Apron A flap of the plane’s skin hangs in the forest’s canopy like titanic picnic litter. Another sheet, insignia unfurled, stands ready to sail across a sea of rippling wheat. Seats bask in the fields in clusters of two or three. Some on their sides, others facing back up to the sky. Each chunk of wreckage with its apron of personal effects. A suitcase, open-mouthed, allows a deep pink cardigan to escape. Turbine Your blades once sat snug as gills inside their toadstool cap. Now skewed and compressed the blades look like the cutaway of a chambered nautilus nestled far from its element. A shell bound by its ratio, its beauty chained yet infinite.