Mud jumps and floods the sparse carpet of small green plants
As the cloud pours its soul into a violent dance
Underneath the storm a newborn is nearly
Conceived, waiting only for its chosen mother to breathe
Finally, the Ghost echoes a song out into the mouth
Of the Bio-robot it has decided to mount
A disguise endowed with a soul, without a name
Counting the seconds, the Ghost opens intelligent eyes
Devised in the lab ahead of time
Blinded at first by the immersion into
The deep pool of sensation, as a feeling of elation
Sweeps over both, the Ghost of the mother and the
Ghost of the son who
Forget who they are and rejoice as one
Poised to have fun,
Purposefully on the run.