The walls of the chamber dissolved about me.
The substance of the world began to sing,
a roar at first painful, at last sublime.
A strange thing this rushing into time:
images exploded, colors slung to pattern
and the sanguine shift of the Doppler.
If the line turned to tie upon itself
I could not sense it, only the torrent
of past and present like hurricane leaves.
From this ground any reality could be born,
any imagination made manifest, any thought
distilled in the hard flesh of the moment.
Copyright © 2003 Bruce Boston
Bruce Boston is the author of forty books and chapbooks, most recently Pitchblende (Dark Regions, 2003) and Head Full of Strange (Cyberpulp, 2003). His work has appeared in hundreds of publications and been translated into Chinese, German, Greek, Italian, Japanese, Polish, and Spanish. His previous publications in Strange Horizons can be found in our Archive. To contact him, email firstname.lastname@example.org.