We Fell, Upside Down, into the Night

Bennu’s Journey – Early Earth, courtesy of NASA

We Fell, Upside Down, into the Night
Brian Lutz

Somewhere an
electric sound.
Violent. Primal.
Placeless like
weightless space
out past the satellites.

I know what
the science
will say—whatever
ripple of sound
and space that
rang out—whatever
ancient scream
sang with the Big
Bang long ago
lost its lungs,
but I swear
I hear below
the din and whine
of everyday
the clangor
of that first
mistake, but
even the dog
is easily asleep
on the cold floor,
so maybe not.

Maybe my mind
is as lonely as
the whole
of space.
the distance
between two
things is better
measured by want
than by foot
and here in
the empty
room I want
the phantom
of some phrase
from before
was separated
on such a
galactic scale.
I try to think
about the color
of your breath.
I try to picture
Bach bouncing
off your flesh
like rainbow disco.

Once in Wales,
I went underground
in an old coal
mine in overalls
patted down
against smuggled
sparks. We
were dressed
as miners. We
descended like
miners into
the dark. Scared
like miners, we
were warned
against electronics,
“Even the air
wants you
dead.” Even
a flicker might,
star-like, ignite
the dark, like
how a slash
of lightning can
turn the black
about the house
into a sudden
a landscape
caught in
the act of
all along
the storm.

We dampened
even our voices
as we fell,
upside down,
into the night.
Our guide
his torch,
and we
were thrown
headlong into
the primal,

My hands
raised to my
open eyes
were nothing.
My friends
were nothing.
No walls.
No wet.
No stars.
No light.

even. Then in
the emptiness
somewhere a
sound dragging
us out of the pre
Our voices
from nothing,
off of nothing.
Out of nothing
we were born.
We became
again ourselves,
bodiless but real
in the dark.
out of the dark
we climbed
the sound
of our

Brian Lutz teaches at Delaware Valley University. His poetry has appeared in Slate, Cimarron Review, and other journals. Brian and his family live in Pennsylvania.