Sitting here, a battle-scarred and placid machine
enjoying the playfulness of ancient water
circumambulating the logos.

Rock-face circuitry interred with a golden statue.

Am I sufficiently reverent?
Am I in danger?

A symmetrical course, a gem, a rented life.
Everything is in the absence of dust,
the absence of light. Everything is perfect, inhuman.

There are trails leading to places you’ll never be.
I’ve seen stairs shaped like galaxies,
ceilings in perpetual movement.