Analog by Rachel J. Bennett having a theoretically infinite resolution Woke up to beaks and contrails alike open to all the music we can stand. Woke up to people-turnedpixels thirty feet high above the avenue, the vines scribbling extraordinary messages above my thesaurus. Woke up wondering about angles as curves and your name as the favorite poem of god and my separation, as man-turned-god put it, as something these machines will never reproduce. The blood, the comedy. Woke up thinking about yesterday’s blizzard of flowers and all the ways I’m painting signs for the world to ignore at its peril. Woke up and admired the personalities of babies and dogs: tall babies, future babies, robo-dogs—and the baby with no dog except the one she lost in her symphony of floods, the only one she’ll ever love (though none of us can know how many dogs we have left to love). And directions, I gave these all day, the kind people ask for when they think you also know what it is to be a little lost. I know about this. I can tell you about sweetness. Woke up to every part of the season around me, including me, falling quietly. Gyroscope Review 19 !