Dark Flow

An Outer Constant

 

So spake the celestial outlier

 

in booming and gravitational tones:

 

Hearken, for I am your only crier;

 

these are abrasions I have seen and grown!”

 

What connotations were lost in its haste

 

to expel its wisdom, we cannot know -

 

our understanding lacks and in its place:

 

the ravings of men and their telescopes.

 

Were it not a voice, but a membrane shook,

 

hemorrhaging its contents down towards none

 

and laying its claw to draw in and hook,

 

anchored by mass at behest of dead suns;

 

we'd seek to prod its infinite bubble

 

with mechanical detritus that strays

 

long after the passing of our Hubble,

 

while its insight that's accrued shall remain.

 

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