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.