All I know is that
light is merely a bunch of photons.
The universe is just
a huge atom darting in and out,
balanced by a seedbed of
quantum vacuum.
All I know is that
the earth and the moon and the seas,
the bluejays, stones, leaves, thoughts,
the hills and the caves
are all randomly drifting.
The clouds, the sky, the seasons
are only energy
changing it’s color.
But you sometimes
lay with me in silence.
Your eyes focused on
the ceiling, your arm making
itself a pillow for my heavy head.
Sometimes you let my skin
press on yours,
and my mind kind of travels
behind the crowd of space debris,
where suns and plasma
and subgiant stars
outlived the wind, and things fall
into place.
I close my eyes
and leave the Milky Way.
The rain patters more
beautifully when you’re around.
