A piece of me is missing, but it knows the way home --
it seeks unity like a needle-point on magnetic north,
and I can feel the rates changing, accelerating.

We're getting closer, and with every passing moment,
a billion fewer force carriers dilute the synapse between us.
Now sooner, and not later,
the pulse that found its spark on a grassy field in Fall
will again choose the righteous axon,
and another lonely chasm will find itself filled with our memory.