What universe is this that I, now, see?
I’m about twenty-five, my brain having
fully formed, adjunct, now, to this body,
sustaining perfection, the light we bring,
when, as time travelers, we arrive at
our destination, determined to change
the future. The night sky, subject to that
which I conceive, is familiar, not strange,
to the life I led, on earth, as a young man.
Each star is composed of the life I lead,
now, the big things being what they can,
and the details, to and for each, take heed,
unique to His every property,
the one universal conscious mind.
Time traveler, living, now, just for me,
gathered around the fire, kin and kind,
without central heating and air. Going
to a garden i need not weed, tomato
growing on the vine, ripe for the picking.
Salty tomato, lips so fine, I toe
His line, stacks of firewood in the shed,
the smell of smoke, collective memory,
long standing future that i put to bed—
the end of an era, what I cannot be.
Living in the past, but with access to
the fifth dimension, overlapping points,
from me to you, there, both rare and new,
wise to the one that hell-fire anoints,
making me whole. I don’t need AI to
do what consciousness does already,
following me down His garden path, true
to the love I believe, the love I will be,
source and sorcerer of woman kind.
She’ll be coming around the mountain, just
in time—winter approaches, and I find
the warbler building his nest, out-sussed
by children, my fate, their fate, from birth,
to set the example He would follow,
if He came from the future, for what it’s worth,
and settled on a world He does not know.