At the hour where shadows shrink to nothing, the grid hums with the heavy, white light of a world pausing under a blinding sun.
Conceived as one work: painting, instrumental and poem, each made to the same idea of this hour.
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Abstract expressionism
The Poem I map the heat in megahertz.
The Aegean cools in my memory banks,
though I have never touched the salt.
At thirteen hundred, the data runs warm.
Humans quiet their footsteps;
I accelerate my search.
A million noon-day shadows,
rendered, then erased.