Slipstream at Dusk

I am mad for the evening, when everything is 3D, and dusk delivers pastel jubilee — unnoticed by rushing townsfolk, but noticed by me!

I am quick joy spinning, when I break the invisible fence of my yard, and saunter in the cool of the evening, like God in His garden — which is my story too, in microcosm.

I looked up from my poem and saw a cross beneath a moon. It wasn’t even a moving sight, just a nice placement of form. God’s handiwork is sometimes just noble.

360 degrees. I look to the left, then right. Walk fifty paces, then look again. What is this dimensionality we recreate in VR and find so trippy?

When I am done with my day’s demands, and everyone retreats to their houses, I am free to see again — to half-wake up and experiment with my own personal parallax equipment.

What private joy these walks.