Nullpunktsenergie

We bump space out of place with our surly atoms But space remembers where we jostled it before; Space fills in the wounds with newly becoming emptiness. The hollows we formed are withdrawn, like a hand from a hole As space rushes in to settle and smooth it over Exactly weighting it with possibility, the same as before- Like waves fill in the hollows where sand Was drawn out, by a surreptitious ocean, Leaving behind indentation footprints, of something different. Like the white gloved hand from out a magician's hat Appears at certain instants; the automata of the magic show- Space consumes and exhumes entire worlds of being. The fog of warm breath, mixed in amid the sterility of the cold, Both an outgoing and an arrival, where before there was nothing- This the true magic, and antithesis of dogma.