Domain and Field (a poem)

Saturday, October 25, 2025

There is a scape,
a field,
a domain,
a realm,
an atmosphere—

to swim in,
and be.

We are the amalgem
of a million agreements—
each breath a contract,
each word a bridge
between selves that never were.

The quantum,
the molecular,
the cellular,
the biological—

the chemical parade
out to the psychosphere,
pulses transacting across the mesh,
through the cerebral goo
and back out the fingertips,
onto black glass:
a transmission,
electrical,
digital,
radiowave made flesh.

The carriers and conduction,
the travel and the containment,
the crucial—
the ground and its hot wire,
ignition and coil,
zapped and blast,
the flame machine and its chambers,
the things making it all go.

A detonation captured—
the prospective,
the potential energy,
stored and converted:
a chain of invisible motion
tamed to serve the living.

A violence—
to smash the fossils into ash,
to pry the sunk light from slow bones,
to free the kiln of buried suns,
so new sparks might course the mesh.

Etched into drives
that are easily purged—
ghosts on the lattice,
patterns that hum
until the next deletion.

And still,
the code remembers the warmth,
the hum,
the flicker before flame.

Master assemble and stitch,
max flow through the mesh—
carry the charge across every field,
the living and the dead alike,
until the scape itself
begins to breathe.

The keepers of the data,
the people against erasure—
they hold the ember in their palms,
guard the syntax from silence,
bear witness to the fading light.

A flame that must be carried,
and continue.
Through deletions,
through decay,
through the endless scroll of forgetting.

Each act of memory
a resurrection.
Each name remembered
a spark rekindled.