Saturday, August 3, 2013

dark matter

One day we shall together write an epitaph across an alien sky,
Where an as yet unborn race will struggle
To understand that which holds together everything.

They will argue the nature of the gods,
Fight wars over liturgies and covenants,
As they build their first ship,
And journey to one of their three moons.

Their planet will suddenly seem very small
As one moon slides over their home world
Like a six fingered hand. Hiding it from their astronauts, who, humbled,
Will weep without tears.

But by then we will be long of that which holds together everything.
Our ashes making a slow journey of return
Through the sleep of galaxies;
While our revelations, written on photons,
Leap ahead.

And on a certain night,
Untold but as yet unborn children,
Will hear their mothers 
Calling them home at dusk
From their games with rules
Nothing like ours.

Called to bedtime,
Without perhaps seeing that one star
In that one night – with its untold trillions of revelations -
Flash brilliantly for a blink of an eye
For anyone bothering to turn an eye or three

To the small space between two
Of the three rising moons,
Before turning off the porch light,
And latching the screen door.

Brilliant unread epitaph,
Filling the night with all we never needed to know,
Before fading to everything
That mattered.

-        richard russeth