Member-only story
ineffable, slippery by nature
the truth of existence splits
into a binary selection: either
all we are is a tango
of algorithms and data marked
by dead end following cold
start — OR everything is
eternal, cosmic, infinitely
soulful — beating heart
or not, love is always possible
Long before — in the pre-city days — when the first colors rallied frequencies of petal and stem bold enough to seduce pollinators into existence — in the days of fern raves and volcanic saturnalia seeding two million years of rain — You traveled the world without a map to bind you.
No signpost said: this way only.
No road confined your steps to pavement.
Longitude, latitude and compass needle — none of these were welded yet across the sphere in neatly fettered stripes, but song…
