Route 83 South

Skyward,

a gray-black crust blankets all,

hugging the world's curved contour

 

Four pale circles of light

communicate along its surface,

curve, swirl, spin,

dance chaotically but with purpose,

pattern,

design

 

They converge,

become one,

then seperate

 

The dance recommences -

an algorithm,

an iteration of something meaningful,

its purpose known only by those who lie at the origin,

at the intersection of axes

 

They trace a map

a Seed of Life pattern

along the outer layer of a series of concentric spheres