Adrift

A piece of her is adrift somewhere in cyberspace.
Some kind of portal where she’s broken down
and reassembled and analyzed for each 0 and 1.
She doesn’t fully understand the process,
but she understands it’s out of her control now.
That eventually, someone will convert her
from electronic to physical, or will simply push her
along that digital pathway until she lands
somewhere in his field of vision, and then he’ll do it, too:
break her down, reassemble her, analyze her.
Those 0s and 1s will end up in some point system
that makes sense on paper but that involves a lot more
than what’s written in black and white.

And once the points are tallied, one of three outcomes:
Perhaps that piece will stay adrift somewhere beyond her touch,
neither reaching nor failing to reach her destination;
Perhaps it will expectedly fail; the decision made for her —
blissfully out of her control — disappointing, but not surprising;
Perhaps (perhaps!) she’ll be surprised
to feel her stomach drop with anticipation, excitement, fear
at seeing land; at having to choose.

And if she must choose, then what?
She’ll break herself down into her component parts,
reassemble herself, analyze herself.
She’ll put herself in some point system
that makes sense on paper but that involves a lot more
than what’s written in black and white —
that beautiful and terrible choice
between knowns.

A choice of hers is adrift somewhere in cyberspace.

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