The Spark

They called it the Spark,
A deep breath for the wide breadth
Of glowing neurons
That pulse like run-way seams
Dreams that pull on the fabric of space-time,
Lighting up a skeleton key
To a whole form of lucidity;
The ability to travel anywhere throughout the galaxy,
They called it the Spark.

For the first time, she sees herself
In
Isolation
From the complications of the world
That danced and whirled around her field of vision,
The superposition of regrets
Of paths not taken
Merge and become one
A deforestation of speculation.
New Years Day is everyday now,
Whatever this used to mean.
The Image, then;

The Spark

Pixels of light
Exploding, dissipating
The spotlight of the privileged present
Highlighting this block time,
Clock time being obsolete
In the grand scheme of things.
She becomes aware of her own breath;
The power of it.
How many times had she used this breath to utter forth
A myriad of emotions
Contortions of her communications
Through words, gestures and intentions
Broken down in its
Choreography
The steps clear in scripted tiers.
Edges of reality light up
Frames of reference like Christmas trees
As she watches this display
Figuring out what it all means
And if she is ever truly
Alone.