Into the emptiness that weighs
More than the universe
Another universe begins
Smaller than the last.
Begins to smaller
Than the last.
Dimensions
Do not yet exist.
My friend, the darkness
Into which the seed
Of all eleven dimensions
Is planted is small.
Travel with me back
Before it grows to more.
The church bell bongs,
Which means it must be noon.
Some are playing hopscotch
Or skipping rope during recess,
And some are swinging on swings,
And seesaws are seesawing.
That she is shy,
Which means it must be May,
Turns into virgin snow
And walking mittened home with laughing friends.
And the small birds singing,
And the sudden silence,
And the curtains billow,
And the spring thunder will follow—
And the rush of freshness,
And the epileptic fit that foams.
The universe does not exist
Before it does.
