Of little substance, autonomous worlds of spinning matter interacting within a predominately empty space is who and what we are, she said. We were on a blind date prearranged by friends. It’s amazing we can communicate at all, she quipped, given the enormous distance between us, relatively speaking. Dinner was served and we talked and ate and cogitated upon the paradox that was us – a network of molecules and cells amassed in growth to become self aware yet barely conscious of our daily involuntarily inner workings. We toasted and laughed at this epiphany. My wine glass fell with a crash to the floor as we rose and heads turned but the galaxy of eyes was beyond our interest. We left the restaurant to cross a stream of stopped traffic, idling and gawking, a gauntlet of headlights glaring at us before we reached the garden path. An urban myth, a forest lit by incandescent moons that transformed us back into children upon finding a jungle gym and swings within a clearing. With abandon we rode the sky seated on pendulums striving for maximum amplitude and displacement. Our energetic thrusts ceased once we glimpsed the glow from a hotel towering above the foliage, inspiring us with a notion to wind down in descending arcs, fingers brushing as we passed. Grounded, we stood and connected, kissing walking teetering as we regained our equilibrium, moving through darkness into lightness. Bells chiming and doors opening, we rose inside a mirrored room of wavering walls, elevated to new heights. Perched on a balcony overlooking where we had been, she mouthed something inarticulate while gazing at the moon. Gazing down into her eyes I saw stars. And the space between us closed, inseparable for a time. Our oscillations felt endless because our existence itself was in question with our bodies finally coming to rest upon a bed. Our quest upon waking in the morning was to recall the past so we could predict the future emanating from our present confusion.
Excerpt from Light-Years in the Dark: StoryPoems (see more)