a light, flame across the room
calling forth waves from the other side.
scattered all around,
is there a point at which it originates.
flowing slowly along a path
but as fast as anything can be.

light is a fall
down release
from where black goes.
flames, nothing.

suspended between fibers, a myth
that glimmers golden in the memory of language.

forever remains unknown,
like that point, a wave of nothingness.