Great Cloud of Witnesses

My father’s father,

A man of stone, steel, his wife,

Cornucopia,

Table ever full.

My father mapped the inner

Space, architecture

Of the mind, so that

Each would be edified in

Their turn. My mother’s

Father typed on neat

Vellum and onion skin the

Formulae of our

Salvation, and with

Them travelled to the furthest

Reaches of the globe.

His wife, of the hearth,

Homestead, warmth, welcome. Mother

Tuned the lyre of

The lost, adjusting

Neurochemistry so that

The darkness would pass.

I am all of them.

I am light speed, silicon,

Atom split to pierce

The veil of life and

Death, that the reaper would sheathe

His scythe for just one

Moment longer, that

Last moment, the first moment,

The only one we

Have. Across millions

Of years, millions of people,

Brought us to today.

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