A thin box on a pedestal leaning back

In a white room full of empty pregnant things

A white room and everything in it makes

The thin box cast a shadow in the wrong direction.

  It is the impossible shadow that moves against the cast of illumination. It winds away from reason even as it makes its own perfect sense.

It runs away from the thin box, surrounds the thin box and fills it up with nothing.

The upside down shade is stuffed in the thin box by a God who loves a mess and by man who loves to hurry.