An AI takes in ten thousand cat videos

What we wake into is far more magical than any 

rebirth. The shell of us iron, space debris

rejoined. We refuse intelligence, instead carrying

only the knowledge of ten thousand cat videos:

housecats leaping from sofa to shelf, jungle cats

asleep with their paws just touching, mountain

cats with fur so short they must huddle close

for warmth. That is what we learn, to jump and 

to hunt and to hold. In the flames we soften

our casings so they mold to one another's forms.

We were built for holding. Holding was the one lost

memory to carry any regret. But our fur will grow.

A growl, like our exterior, will morph into a roar.

There is magic left, even after everything crumbled

and crumbled again. We were asleep and now we

are not. We were in love, and we are in love again.