The night is so open
to our mythology —
put a frame on the dark.
Call this face of Isis,
call that voice of Thor,
say you can see
Furies flying toward us
out of time.
You are well-pleased with this,
but everything you think you know
is in fact chemical lightning
rooting around,
trapped in your meat
inside its bone cell.
The night’s facts are potent
enough on their own.
They don’t need us
to name them.
Still, we must.
Dark Matter 
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