Time and Space do a jig,
surfing gravity’s waves
into black holes.
Dark Mother hides,
sighs in the sunless sun.
Hangs a sign, “No Vacancy”
on the matrix door.
Time has no time
for expanding Space.
She has deadlines,
deadlines, deadlines.
If Space expects
to jig with Time,
he’ll have to make
an appointment.
Dark Mother wants Space
and Time to wed. Wove a gown
bejeweled with stars. The gown’s train,
straight as an arrow. Always facing
Tomorrow, tasked to bear the train
like a dead weight. Tomorrow, always
the bridesmaid, never the bride.
Forget the wedding.
It’s too expensive,
and nobody is happy
with the arrangements.
Tomorrow is an uninvited guest,
a dead weight.
Toss him on a train,
with a one-way ticket
to outer Space.
But Time surprises everyone.
Throws her wedding ring
back into Saturn’s orbit.
Jumps out of her gilded train.
Elopes with Tomorrow despite
the gravity of their union.
written with Barbara Leonhard, published on Substack:
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