at the first we were polygons
something other than luck
we waited while the mountains formed
while space itself expanded
now we live within the unseen spaces
between the atoms
the wrinkles of the rocks
we wander wildernesses of
deciding what they are
we float, great black and cloaked
above the spill and splendour of createdness
we mourn sometimes—
full, too full of the inabstract stuff
we wait for singularity
for the way it used to be.
Thanks for checking out my poem.
Did I tell you I wrote a novel? You can also donate some of your hard-earned dollars down below—that’s money to me, for free!