The Blue Book

Sensor Flow

Now, at last, you’ve come
to speak with me of beauty,
to recount all layers of the atmosphere
you’ve been living in,
between the loudness of thunder
and the stealth of swirling water,
carried on currents
only this old communion can know,
a coming together of two old rivers
who have carved the lands below them
with a longing, barely articulated,
to flow as one again,
all lit up in orange and pink
and every other
sacred shade

At last, old friend, you’ve come,
a shower on the distant ridge,
on fire with rainbow rain and a rhythm
I had thought forgotten.


Find a Way

Because even machines can learn now