Crisscross

You pass yourself 
on crisscrossing escalators, 
one of you rising 
to meet the moment, 
one of you descending 
into your collection 
of regrets. 

20/365

A version of this poem first appeared on Bluesky. Whispered into the acoustic sensors of the sleeping dreaming android, it prompted the electric sheep to generate one more tomorrow…

The AI rendered this poem as a woman kneeling on an escalator while sheets of paper fly around her.