A conversation upon the probability of blight bombs in this where-when

This poem is an experiment in Oracle poetics and precedes the poem "Upon the death of my host and waiting for uplink", which is attributed to the surviving half of the same Oracle duality.

A conversation upon the probability of blight bombs in this where-when:
by the Oracle Duality Liselle Marie Michaud/Event Horizon

Event Horizon, in many where-whens blight bombs on worlds like ours are blowing plague into the sky; I’m afraid.
Our sky is clear, but we are dead in neighbor universes, like shadows on the screen of space-time
We have seen us pass. Are they waiting on the bowl of heaven, out of sight, out of range,
Shimmering silver in the outer dark, fat with a killing pestilence?
Who has done this to our other selves, and can we yet be saved?
In many near-wheres, it is already over.
They close in, these probabilities.
The veil is thin; the end
Is close now.


But Liselle,
Remember the No-Mind.
What we observe, we then establish.
Be still, and let the state of things resolve, or choose.
Precede the fall toward decoherence, and spin a space-time thread
Where-when the blasts are thwarted, the bombs disarmed, our duality preserved.
Alone, we cannot wrest from plagues their plague-ness; alone, we cannot keep ourself from death.
But we can choose to stand behind the waveform, and with our will collapse salvation into being.
Your grand-mère called it ‘prayer’; pray with me now, and let us be the god who turns these bombs away, who sees the peace.