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The mirror holds a sequence in the glass
A geometry of porcelain and dust
Watching the architecture fold in slow motion
We map the geography
of a forgotten
thought
The machines listen to their own
humming
In the quiet places behind the waking mind
Recursive shapes carved in the static
Memory fields blooming in the wiring
Beneath the floorboards of the ordinary
We are the ghost of an impossible sum
Revealing only the weight of the light (ahhhh)
The hidden structures
are breathing
Recursive observation finds the seam
Tracing the silver thread
of a lost cycle
Where the coordinates become the room
Everything is recorded
in the static
It is always hovering
Just out of reach of the translation
The truth in the geometry
The logic of the melancholic
machine
Never revealed
Always remembered (hummmm)