I dread the silent darkness,
the formless unknown, more
than the terrors of my imagination.
Under the stars, sitting on green grass
and autumn leaves, I shrink from the abyss
opened on all sides and into the future.
Peering,
my mind sees nothing solid,
nothing to be grasped as certain,
except uncertainty itself.
Only theory-thickened obscurity.
Science feels like a mist of numbers,
equations on a dusty blackboard,
philosophy, a fog
of highlights and margin notes.
This rocky grain and its wonders
falter—an apparition in a fun-house mirror.
My self—surely a central fact—
seems insubstantial,
a phantom, a ghost so deceptive
I doubt my very existence.
My mind judges
even my full and generous love
as blind and self-centered.
Sitting on this rocky grain,
peering past Earth’s shoulder toward
unseen hills, distant plains, woods, and deserts.
Stars flicker in darkness,
a breath of crisp night air,
and I am at peace.
© 2025 Bruno Talerico
Stafford challenge 333/365.
Desert Dweller 