In the Universe, All Points Bend Toward Each Other

In math, a curve is a trace left by a moving 
    point. It flows and doesn’t just linger between 
       two nodes, describing the edges of a scallop shell, 
          whorls that pop open to dislodge jewelweed seeds.
              The smooth white curves of Corelle plates you laid
                on dining tables over countless meals through 
                  the years, the pearled edges of a moon pushing 
                  through clouds to shine through the window;
                 the deep purple globes of figs you gather
               from a tree bending with the weight of all 
             the ripeness calling to beetle and crow, ant
           and moth and slinking raccoon and you—   
         and yes, nothing lasts forever, which is why your
      hands form a little hammock to say thank you.