Spreading theories of transformation of light.
The curvature of space, the relative universe,
rounder and fuller. Every day is a lump of energy,
the previous day a new block of life.
But when hours lose reason, the equation shuts down.
One cold night, I woke out loud from my alchemical dreams,
not yet ready to let off the persistent vision of tragedy.
It was impossible to imagine any other belief.
I had to wake to salt the wounds. I woke to hold that lack
I had constructed. Went into the hallway where sense
slowly passed into me with its distraction. I sat in the purple lilt.
Before my father was dying but after he had begun
to forget in earnest, I told him I love you and the velocity of my telling
was something I could cling to. A length, a continuum.
Outside, there was no order, just the earth’s old eye
below correlating fields of stars.
The physics book says there is no such thing as a real void,
one that is completely empty. So the earth is in a sort of balance,
slipped between people and porch. The start of dawn, the flint
of hummingbirds. Us. Him and me and you.
My dad responded to what I said: Thank you for the love.
I keep looking at it. The moment held many particles,
infinitely large and also disappearing.
