Conceive a magic carpet of space-time
a billowing sheet not threaded with miles or hours
not spooled or spun but spilled dimensionless
on which we float secured by gravity
no where or when
but in our brains’ conception of what is
and was and will be and of how
a universe can happen like a wave
evolving gathering heaving itself to be
smooth as a dolphin’s back on which we surf
riffing on tales of singularities
black holes light years a zillion galaxies.
Conceive of what you will:
What ‘is’ eludes us still.