Economies of scale


The sky as  heavy as your imagined broken-self would be the better metaphor than this to say that here in all your days you never felt any more complete than now so whole and holy as the light that cracks the molten chambers of your ‘cast up and outward’ heart and as she looks up to you all blue-eyed gentle bliss and says she wants to build and break a sandcastle you put down your pen at last and lift her high and find everything you ever needed was always already curled into the hands and heart and in the holy coil of code that sprung from you  and birthed the thing that sings you now onto the sand to leap through waves and stretches out its arms to cast a shadow of you and she as birds all soar and song and flying back into the light.

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