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An Outer Constant
So spake the celestial outlier
in booming and gravitational tones:
“Hearken, for I am your only crier;
these are abrasions I have seen and grown!”
What connotations were lost in its haste
to expel its wisdom, we cannot know -
our understanding lacks and in its place:
the ravings of men and their telescopes.
Were it not a voice, but a membrane shook,
hemorrhaging its contents down towards none
and laying its claw to draw in and hook,
anchored by mass at behest of dead suns;
we'd seek to prod its infinite bubble
with mechanical detritus that strays
long after the passing of our Hubble,
while its insight that's accrued shall remain.
