The physics of love

The end of all things
is not entropy,
but perfection.

Photons imply eyes. Light creates space.
Space fills out wonder,

This ocean? My teacup. For what is there in me that is not
in the night sky?

Such a perfection of laws
pursued down corridors of pure
unlocking each mystery,
opening to mystery

Muse beckons and I accelerate
& in its gravity follow mystery.

A whisper next to my whisper

hearing spoken what is spoken
—from hearing—
traces silent vibration
in the vacuum.

Bring me light!