An Ode To Outer Space

Synchronistically the apple tries its flight

and wind blows;

the fish parts the waves for a glimmer of air

and wind blows;

whispers of the darkness

that holds it all together

thunder past your ears

riding a bike, running.


The darkness—not the light—is the source.

Without air, it holds the air,

without movement,

it holds all movement,

as space, as emptiness

it holds all the crowded places,

the claustrophobic closets of mystery.


Be still in the terrible darkness,

feel its silence run through

your veins, until your heart beats

with the emancipation of

timeless, airless, empty

nothingness—where everything

lives. Such darkness reveals

the soul.


© Andrea Mathews, 2014


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