The Shape of Space

I was born in the stretch of void-tallow
the dark matter of gaps between objects

My spectral cloak, cold as night
envelopes the universe
with deathly information.

Eel, Bee, Keeper of harvests,
Slug, Owl, my names are many.

I am the gaps on a page between letters.
I am the silence between stares,
the death-glass that separates deaf enemies.

Make shapes of me
and I will shape you too; islands,
star-minds, forever alone
connected by ephemeral threads
of comfort from the storm
of infinity.

As as I am ripped apart by the rack of time,
so are you.

We are atoms in spilled ink.

Weep for the protons;
these immortal beacons
can never touch.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.