I partially perceive the dark. I boils from out my skin and floats

into a billion rising suns sustained in seas of black.

The dredged and deepened tunnel of the latter evening’s open throat

swallows whole the glow of globes in gravity’s endearing grasp.

There are no friends, no love in this. No such terrestrial antiques.

Alone and throbbing primal seeds of exploration sewn.

From egoless and wordless lips, the coming language that we speak

are syllables synonymous with distant dreams of nothing known.

No crimson cradle savior’s blood. Religion feels a foreign theme.

Inside the frontal lobe of god, synaptic stars connect the thoughts.

Single cells to whales, puddles turned to sails that scale the seas

of darkness partially perceived inside a billion burning dots.