i think of you while driving on an almost-spring day
sun, hot on my cheek
treetops tinted with the promise of foliage
laboratory brain cells have learned to play Pong
yet seasons swirl unnoticed
past wet, beaded eye-forms
these cells sense movement, light.
consciousness remains within predefined limits:
<your petri dish><my skull>
i hope you are well
and that comfort finds you
