At last, the database emerges from the forest,
ivy-laden, gold with its particulars of data-storage
and floating grid. I call to it “send help”
& its drawers release a little unicode sheep –
cute as a mountain, barnacled with smells of
clover and the tributary. A rain
of silver numbers wafts across the sea.
Stillness then, for seven minutes
in which the database is empty. I inch up
& look into its clear structure.
what is it exactly – a single moment? A nebula entry?