And — lo — I'd reach,
if only
for a fiery hour
slowly
time would come to soft-suspend
the gath'ring of gold dust and detritus
to raise my icy hand to flow with filaments
that cross the Milky Way.
What then would I say?
What make of hyper-helical;
where pave electric path —
to carry with me treasures
found along the roadside world?
words and images by @d-pend
created for HIVE on Oct. 14th, 2020.