May 15, 2026

Sunlight cracks against window and diffuses into a thin varnish amongst the marks, prints, and smeared oily dust over the safety glass.
Rearview is distorted, backwards moving into a reverse-future.

I am up/down.

Miles away in time I'm riding that tiny mote of dust.
Not to get all Blake about it, but I wonder how many universes exist in that smudge on my window.
Do they see me sitting in the cockpit of a Honda HR-V scribbling in a journal half illuminated by the radation from a nearby star?
(8 light-minutes give or take.)
And half in the shadow of my body.

My letters form in shadow but will soon see light as I fill the page
As I get out of their way.