light trails
give form to the inner space, poet of the universe
these letters, this language insufficient
shadows what breathes beneath the surfaced sounds
feeble attempts to package the void of consciousness
what is here, then, poet?
what are we becoming (once again)?
what am I discovering
this stuff
freshly birthed, but no—
unearthed.
and the self-evident cornerstones of our being
pulse as glimpses of trailed off memory.