It starts out as a graph And fast ways to traverse Using math, theory, The universe of our relations. Of what use We ask staring up at the stars At Orion and Ursa In this cold winter. Traces are made of friends, Their faces, their eyes on their Other selves, those personas that they, we, Project as objects (always objects to be desired). Always we want to be more For others, than just this. Empire We know comes from the small bits, Terabytes become small, eventually, Dwarfed in hyper-dimensionality, The scale of which takes a cloud, Comes from the small gifts we make, And small releases Of endorphins from other likes. The source of empire is minutiae, Amassed quietly, used in silent Centers in the desert, growing, Training eyes on recognition. Our desires To be seen. The gaze of others, to be liked, We see in our own home, ourselves as stars Rather than the bits We are in the nebula. Traffic-cams, Border-cams, Over head a drone; Banks have cameras. Empire lives on eyes Sees us in a way we Might reconsider, Tracks us walking up to our homes, Nests, doorbells, Follows us as the stars enter twilight.