Holo Boundaries

  Where wast thou when I laid the foundations of the earth

  We’ve spent hundreds of hours and

  devoured hundreds of thousands

  of

  words building the future, cars that hover and blur,

  screens that flicker behind our eyes and

  over our heads. Streaks of

  starships

  overhead, leaving behind a trail of ink and drawn

  paper. We’ve met the aliens so

  many times, conquered more earth

  than the moon, passed the solemn face of Pluto and her

  three

  or four inconsequential cousins—at least I’ve

  enjoyed

  the stories. The

  scopes have focused on the miasma of the outer rims

  of space, snapped

  The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  shots like pop rocks magnified and consumed. But now I’m

  slung

  out here in the spin of

  furious things, a weekend holiday in the

  sun’s breakfast room, gazing out at the

  universe. A universe that

  breathes in when I do, relieves

  stress by shifting the

  planets slowly

  around to the music of their ballet spheres. The owner

  handed down

  a map when I

  arrived, jabbed at the

  keys in the stars with his worn finger, regal

  twin to

  the finger outstretched

  toward

  Adam in Michelangelo’s momentary sketch, humanity's

  humble creation.

  Glancing down, I shudder and grin

  at the name carefully scrawled across the map—

  my

  own. I must have

  been here before. God

  only nods and continues to point—

  at the

  supernovas cobbling together new stars, at the birth

  of the pillars of creation crawling

  out of the youngest nebula, magnetic

  clouds that cling to

  my imagination. Keep breathing, in and out, up and down,

  let the

  universe guide your lungs and traveling mind. If you get down

  on your

  knees and squint, you’ll recognize the

  stitches

  binding the universe together—the same fabric makes

  up me

  .