IN GEOMETRY CLASS, YOU LEARNED YOU COULD DRAW by Ian Cappelli

an arrow at the end of a line—the assumption: that it would continue on forever. Lessons in spontaneity: old men, shirtless, doing volleyball. Somebody conceiving of a lattice bridge. Each crossbeam, in summation, holding up a road. Anglers returning an underweight fish from the line, un-arrowing the hook from its lip. Elisions accreting into distance. When pricing your mother’s records, you scan what she left you for hairlines. If something could come out of nothing, it would be a kind of evaporation.