Martin Robertson

Now and Then

Holes in Space

Galaxies, galleon-bold adventurers, pass

out through uncharted night,

extending being.  But in their recklessness

stretch to snapping communication-lines

of light,

are lost.  Night wins.

Swirling vastness a lost speck.  In each speck

sparks without number spin,

suns.  One bursts in huge radiance.  The wreck

falls back on itself, contracting back,

down, in,

irreversibly packed

to a still point.  Matter and energy

funnelled through a point of not-

being, are re-formed what? where? to be

keel on what un-isled ocean, spark

in what

other-dimension dark?