So the frequency between us encodes
our coordinates, and space would be finite,
a superposition of opposing modes.
Time goes on forever: we’re made of light—
people at the center of our own sphere.
Then, when we visit, our backs combine,
like waves passing, redefining what’s here
and there, before reclaiming His line,
the energy we started out with. So,
give or take a modicum of doubt,
I anticipate the next life as I go,
vacillating, in perpetuity, out
and in—until, do tell, I meet my maker,
and His silence abounds. Godspeed, friend:
assume the role of a mover and shaker,
until we meet again around His bend.
The universe rotates about me—
we go back, together, to where we start,
and relive our dreams. His history—
his desperation is what i impart,
springing, as it does, from my loins and my
heart, closing, just like us, just ahead,
before His ascension, the blink of an eye,
shifting, like magic, being born instead
of dying. Say hey, weary traveler,
as you make your way home, a function
of Him, places we’ve been, what you conjure
when you’re alone, secured by gumption,
and the happiest devil i ever knew.
I think of my loved ones, apart from me,
for now, as I go around what’s new,
the origins, then, of eternity—
a state that we can only imagine
from either side of the pond. Do His will,
listen for the dropping of a pin,
and address the love that He’ll instill
when we arrive, at a point, between our
lands. Here’s the sound of my partner’s voice,
awakening, in me, His hidden power,
the ability to choose—to make His choice.