There’s a lot of unknown space inside my head.
Grey matter takes account of what I know;
the rest is mere potential, adjusted,
ready to absorb my interests, to grow
in possibility, outstretch belief.
The nothingness inside my head withholds
information, sometimes allows a brief
glimpse at what might be. Just flimsy scaffolds
that bear no weight; hazy inklings at best.
Suggestions that do nothing more than hint
at provisional thoughts, points of interest;
obscurity with nothing as a splint.
. Is certainty the child of a loose joint?
. What becomes of nothing is a moot point.

© Tim Grace, 11 August 2012

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To the reader: The ‘vast voluminous void’ of unknown space inside my head replicates the expanding universe; endlessly capable of absorbing dark matter. Conversion of this mysterious matter into grey matter (useful knowledge) is no easy task; before I know it I’m confused. In the face of quantum leaps I rely on established models of understanding to span the gaps. With insufficient trajectory I fall short of opposite banks and plummet none the wiser.

To the poet: In the tradition of paired sonnets, this poem partners the previous. Both reference the potential of empty space as a matter of intrigue. In the first of two, the topic was dark matter; in the second, grey matter came into focus. The emptiness of space as a metaphor for nothingness is the gateway into a look at the relationship between confusion and curiosity.

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