The plates of Earth that slip,
And grate against themselves,
With a frequency set at decades,
The wavelength of an entire planet,
Stretched beyond its orbit,
Outside the Oort and dust,
The haunt of Pioneer and Voyager,
We'll tape it over a hundred years,
Then shrink it, shift the pitch,
And listen to the music of accretion,
The bass of all the continents,
The rhythm of an atmosphere,
Cycled and then recycled,
Into the sound of now,
The hit of the Millennium,
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