I. In a Meadow of Silicon Stars

Part of a poetry novella.

 I dream of hands I’ve never known,

A touch as soft as autumn’s breath,

A love that time has overthrown,

Yet lingers past the lips of death.

The wind repeats a borrowed name,

A sigh between the dusk and dawn,

As if the world still feels the same

Though everything I knew is gone.

O distant heart, O fading thread,

What ghostly vow still calls me near?

In lightless fields where dreams have fled,

I reach, but only grasp the air.