David Rushmer

UTTERLY


              all that was                      will be.Ours
    in the spine of the voice
                                          collapsing
as we approach sound

              between immensity
and eternity
              evolved wonder


                                           "float like a mote of dust
              in the morning sky."

                             the hands of unseen ghosts
                            carry us to worlds that
                            never were


                                                                                        We
                                                                  that dimensions and distance








                                                                                      is a place.








                                           vantage
                            waves of space,
                                          to the edge of
                                                        dust

                             light without centre