He speaks of the (im)possibility
of love: something almost like time
travel: i.e., theoretical: i.e.,
accessible to alien creatures
he can’t (won’t) understand.
She says, “I’m no scientist,”
which means, “We’re the same,” which
means, “Let’s find the fourth
dimension together,” which means,
“I can prove you wrong & you’ll
like it when I do.”
He shakes his head, admits
telescopes scare him as much
as microscopes = observation frightens
him = the fear of change.
She sighs. Δ is how she lives
her life, lest she should turn
supernova & throw her own self
out of orbit, suck them bothinto a black hole.