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I wrote this poem in the mid-1980’s when the universe was being described as something like a type of “foam” out of which matter emerged. There is so much about our universe we do NOT know and so much that stirs the imagination!

©B. Luceigh, 1985

In the empty spaces not so empty
between the edges of the foam
vacuums fluctuate and roam content
til particles emerge to spin and race
only to vanish to an unseen home
and leave but a trace
as if they were sent to stir us to wonder
then leave us again
in a vacuum of our own.

Were they creation from nothing
as it would seem
or did they visit from another universe
through an opening in our ignorance
or an opening in our dream?
Why did they prefer not to remain
but leave the empty space intact instead?
Perhaps the time was not right
or the dimension too many or few.

So too the empty spaces in us teem
as thoughts come and leave
and sometimes linger for a memory
or evolve to an expression.
How many traveled instead to other worlds
that we might have still empty space
to store our mystery?