by Emily Strauss
—a mysterious invisible substance called dark matter:
astronomers have been forced to confront the possibility that most of the universe is invisible, and that all the glittering chains of galaxies are no more substantial, no more reliable guides to physical reality, than greasepaint on the face of a clown. NYT, July 16, 2014
it comes at night
swirling at your feet
around the corner
of the porch rattling
the still-frozen roses
waiting for footsteps
to raise black dust
over the ice
or flies incautiously
overhead like spidery
cirrus clouds
wrapping the earth
in faint arms
the mystery between
galaxies dancing away
from the primeval
bright glow that soon
darkened forever
its push invisible
a hand on the door
slowly opening
in the wind rising
off the night ridges
no one there
but a fringe-toed
lizard— uma scoperia
silent in the evening
the dark matter of it
there like a fugue
of stars, a vague
shape almost invisible
but trace it carefully
mysterious substance
raining down
through us
a mantle
laid by hands
unknown
Category: Poetry