T. R. Hummer
In the silence after, we understood the depth of our error:
The cosmos was in fact a cabinet of mirrors, the infinity of space
A cheap sleight of hand. THe universe was precisely
One billion cubits in duration, encased in a solid dodecahedron of isinglass:
All this designed to distract those who ask too many questions.
Certain stubborn problems vanished. Light moved more slowly
Than we had assumed. It would have washed Manhattan clean
Of bone-dust and ash, but the morning went on precisely as it had to,
There being nowhere else for it to go, and when the three thousand souls
Separated from the vapor of memos and desk chair, rocked
as they were, together, from our recent illusion, they discovered one mercy
At the center of their loss: the journey to theb order would be brief.
