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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?