I am flying
in a holding pattern
that’s contrived outside
the space of time.

It’s from before
the ignition of the
first human fire,
before zero and
the powers of ten.

Above, below, ecumenical
it reflects its purpose
and mine.

The boundless cosmos
seems insignificant
for I am enraptured;
by empirical sapience
here, all is silent.

Slowly,
I breathe.

Steady is the sublimity
of my wings.

The thread of illumination
parallel to sempiternity –
navigates me.

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