Dark Matter

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Dark Matter

We were the people who bore the beginning,


who first stood to reason, saw further by standing,


who left by the crossing: the first to go over.

And we were the people who pictured our distance,


not meeting our own kind in one day of walking,


who lived by the turning, left shells by the river,

who held all together with nothing but chanting,


yet harked back forever: the dark matter, haunting.

Our words learned their memories, told at a gathering:

we were the people who drew from the knowing


that eyes are for innocents, tongues are for telling time,


places for honouring-each has its own dream.

If we are now nothing, take note of our absence;


here are our hands which we painted in shadows.

Originally Published in Shotglass

—Philip Quinlan