we are interstellar travelers,
building a habitat between the bands of time,
wings thirsting for the space—
to gather in the trees, the wind,
the roads, the future.

the sun doesn’t sit in the sky;
it burns in our DNA,
racing on the runways of molecules,
collecting on intersecting highways and mirrors,
two worlds converging upside down,
inside and out,
on the staircases of grit and glitter.

we pull back the curtain
and find the windows
covered in ghosts.
it’s no mirage or hallucination,
it is the second earth,
the unseen dimension—
a cloud of witnesses
reaching to touch fingertips.

do you see yourself?
you are more capable than you think,
for you are the truest expression
of the invisible, ever-expanding