I may have seen
through the fabric of the universe.
On the day of the solar eclipse,
I sat in meditation and felt
the metallic yin.
The moon cold and decisive as Ulysses’ sword.
It was the approaching night
that I would, thankfully, only witness.
But I saw it,
like a spectator in the coliseum,
the steel grey blades
that killed the gladiators.
63 words, I am forever free from 55. Now, it’s about how ever many words I need to say what it is I have to say.