for ourselves. What lies beyond
the curve. We laid breadcrumbs
of heaven, burned libraries
to make martyrs of verse,
needles and threads
for the minds that weave.
Still, they are all just stories,
locked in deeper realities
or so we've forgotten; let us worship
the means to gather food, or
bow to the unknown that we might
tame it; that we might stare it
in the face and not know fear.