it starts with the gentlest touch
consistent orbiting full of long loving
years, perhaps their memory
is in a city under the universe,
the dark crevices underneath the waves
of roiling planets emitting no light
perhaps in a cradle of history
barely scratching a fragile billion years,
heard in soft links writhing at the first
taste of life, maybe its built from above
with a view of excitement
of the very first time the memory glowed
