Four Million Switches for Twenty Thousand Lights

One entanglement creates another, 

Lives, meadows, forests, cities, circuitry 

All derived from the same mess of wires spooled 

Out of the furnaces of attraction. 

In sleep, the thing that is not me dreams 

Until I rouse myself to mistake it 

For some sidereal commentary 

On an existence that it only rings. 

And what it dreams of, recently, begins 

In a mansion of innumerable rooms-- 

Could be a king's palace, could be a tree-- 

Where there is never enough light to see 

But every cavernous wall is covered 

From dark floor bottom to dark ceiling join 

With bank upon bank of dials and switches 

That modulate the flickering story 

Fluttering down from a roof that might be 

A planetarium or actual 

Stars too far away to be convincing. 

And any one switch could turn off the lights.