Who Has Seen the Dark Matter Wind?

My eyes strain at the stars, and yet between them, where the unknowable things hide, where the mechanisms of change clunk endlessly around the axle of truth, I still see nothing. The glow of its starry eyes can relinquish a dash of knowledge through the dark veil, but some say it blinks too fast; you’ll miss it. I say, keep staring.

The chair falls, faster this time; I swear it. The clattering wood mocks my attention in a smug show. I whip the chair into the corner, throw a book at it. The chair teeters before tumbling, placating me, perhaps, but yes, slower over there. As I caress the stale air, my outstretched palm tingles, but its just an itch. The tendons in my knuckles tighten my antenna-like fingers against shivering. I must not stir any disturbance as I stand rigid, closing my eyes, blocking out all perception but touch, waiting for the faint signal in the chill air. Tell me you’re here. Tell me what you are.

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