From above, lights beneath the fog glitter
like dew on a spider web.
Streets sprawl,
filaments more intricate than nerves.

Dear God, what have we wrought?
It has become self-aware,
its thoughts no longer our thoughts,
its ways no longer our ways.

Now we are the microbes
invading its body,
multiplying until some of us are forced out
to search for another place to infect.