All eleven dimensions, folded spinning resonance 
looping on looping
It is not a skeletal specter, scythe slicing the thick intangibles of future times 
It is a glow that folds on itself like a migraine tear across the depth of interior visions
The endless beating of the wings, 
the whirlpool of blood is not forever
But the carelessness of loss is cradled in an infinite light on the other side of a relentless horizon 

Scot GL 6:04 AM February 10 2023