Nothing Is the Most We Ever Know
We became astronomers thinking we were studying the Universe, and now we learn that we were just studying the 5 or 10 percent that is luminous. --Vera Rubin, discoverer of Dark Matter
A truck rattles past the house.
I close my eyes to see the night open
its black luster, the ocean's dream
when most profound. I let my jaw
go slack, and I fall through violet galaxies,
fresh and ancient as thumbprints
on a milk bottle, a snowy porch, Cincinnati, 1962.
the ceiling, I close my eyes. Like rain,
light will eel itself through any chink,
but what's through when we're through?
(This wonderful poem came to us from Ellie and Louis, our delightful next door neighbors. At the bottom of the page there was a hand-written invitation to dinner and "more talk of mysteries." Who could resist?
Here is a link to a most opportune video and below a snap made yesterday of the snowy porch we share with Ellie and Louise.