i remember the words quantum leap. a phrase that came from nowhere. how long ago did i first hear those words. i must have been about 9 or 10. like a lot of seeming significant things, i place the time around the divorce. that may be an event horizon, a wormhole. i know my bedroom then was a box of dark energy. i'm still working on the fallout of those dreams. it used to be colloquial, used to mean something big, a bit outrageous, a leap out of expectation, across an ordinary abyss. i think of the status quo. the daily abyss. anyway now this katydid makes me think, it's still there now, six hours later, between two panes of glass, up here in the sky, anyhow i wonder if this is like a quantum leap, how it would seem, in the mind of a katydid between two windowpanes, 15 stories high. now she faces down. she's a she now for this post. will she have a transformation, like the cicada did? will she be released? by me? 
i'm now reading, oh, skimming i suppose, through two doors at once, the elegant experiment that captures the enigma of our quantum reality, by anil ananthaswamy, award-winning author of the man who wasn't there. and if ever there was a quantum leap. it's like my mind can't, it's like that dream i had of running perpetually along the sheer edge of an abyss, stones crumbling under my feet, i can't make the leap, i can't veer away. i'm skimming the deckle edge, eyes down in my feet, my head at the mercy of unknown quantum gravity, my only hope is to sprout wings or run til i die, after i return the book to the liberry, to understand this strange science poetically, or have an epiphany. now i see i don't know why, the quantum leap is infinitely small and big at the same time, it's here and there at once upon a time. i see that within the status quo so moribund everybody must be leaping all the time.

 leaping all the time.