A thunderstorm this morning. I think the first one of the season.
Far off booms with more than normal crackling and a lighter fall.
A Blade Runner morning – from the mind of Ridley Scott.
I question for a moment if I am a replicant.
If my memories are manufactured.
If I have only four years, and if so,
how many have I lived and
how many have others lived for me.
Am I being hunted?
And would any of it matter?
I have another morning.
I have another thunderstorm.
Creator, thank you.