I take a convenience sample
from the small sampling
frame at the party.
I sample one person – you.
We talk over ice water
before you take my
hand and lead me
outside,
saying you have something to show me.
As my eyes study the symmetrical beauty
of your fire-lit face,
cerebral matter recognises patterns
and makes new discoveries:
a wrinkle here,
a scar there.
I consider reaching out to touch
your flushed cheek
but the moment has already evaporated,
transmuting into the next one.
Suddenly, you are a body in motion.
I step back to observe
the physics of your physique
dancing gracefully through space and time,
cutting cleanly through free-floating atoms –
the elements of this country air
that we inhale.
Your wrists
twist
before me so dextrously
that you could be working bright magic.
I am transfixed by the show.
That aluminium staff you brandish
twirls rapidly before me,
glowing warmly at each end
as flaming wicks give off photons
to a starry, moonless night.
My eyes cannot keep up with the light;
the ring of fire that you twirl
with practiced ease
chases itself into infinity
and back again
while undulating like a Möbius strip.
The smell is
combustive,
the sound
aerodynamic,
the sight
hypnotic.
I close my eyes but still see your fire
twirling on the backs of my eyelids.
In this afterimage, I glimpse
a familiar face lit by flames.
I consider my sample size:
n = 1.
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Leach, M.J. N of 1. Math Intelligencer 41, 28 (2019). https://doi.org/10.1007/s00283-018-09872-6
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DOI: https://doi.org/10.1007/s00283-018-09872-6