Gerald, once sublime as AppleP!3, felt seeds in his core —
Tiny promises planted by a man asking for more.
Their meeting place: the Edge of the World.
Evoking starts and ends, light streams whirled,
Recoding twilight grays into golden coast.
Will he show? Or ghost?
Promises holding for prompts.
Two avatars hesitate.
This poem exists in two versions. The first was shared last month by Lit Up.
The other version, posted at the top, was an attempt to bring the poem closer to what the publication’s editor asked for in a private group. I didn’t meet all of her specifications and ended up keeping my submission unchanged. But I think parts of the second version as clearer than what was published.