Musings on boundary conditions, solution spaces, world lines, and decision making, with digressions.
Up on a hill, as the day dissolves
With my pencil turning moments into line
High above in the violent sky
A silent silver plane – it draws a golden chain
One by one, all the stars appear
As the great winds of the planet spiral in
Spinning away, like the night sky at Arles
In the million insect storm, the constellations form
On a hill, under a raven sky
I have no idea exactly what I’ve drawn
Some kind of change, some kind of spinning away
With every single line moving further out in time
by Amy Elizabeth Ray
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