cold dark matter, some of it bright and hot
some of it not matter
on such a scale that it might appear
arrested, frozen, fixed
in crystal spheres
but in reality flying
outwards from a single point of origin
Play that film backwards—Brian Cox
tracing the reverse trajectory
of all that is or has ever been
brings us at last, second by second
gasping on the shores of cosmic time
to a garden shed near Banbury
there a mild goddess sits
the un-ancient of days
her finger on the button
what done it all
her name the horn of becoming
the park-keeper at the gates of dawn
the shot that was heard around the shed
gnab
.
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