There is no such thing as a real void

There is no such thing as a real void.

I just read this

in ‘seven brief lessons on physics’.

No thing is ever really empty.

The glass, or the bucket,

before it is filled,

swarms with the tiniest of particles –

invisible forces that leap and bump,

disperse and collect, like a

flock of finches in the midst of flight

gliding across the vast and open sky

as if inseparably, one.

There is no such thing as a real void

so when you tell me you are empty

or lost to yourself, when you say

hope has dried up and left

behind only a hollow husk

I know we are blinded by sight.

There is no such thing as a real void.

You contain multitudes

and I am determined to leer

beyond the first glance

beyond the grime that lurks at the surface

beyond the reach of my arm

and its inability to grasp air, space, time

and loss. I am determined

to leer into the void

where all that is born

is of the same celestial seed,

where snails and turtles,

butterflies and humans

all share one ancient ancestor

and where, in the darkest and loneliest

and bleakest of holes,

all we know

is that when a star collapses

a universe is born.