by Paul Hooker

The sounds of Comet 67P,

Recorded by the Rosetta spacecraft, November 2014.


Is this how it sounds when God sings

in the dew moist before time’s first morning,

in the interstices of molecules and galaxies,

melody etched in ice and dust

rhythm pulsing among the planets,

echoing in eternity,

as though the universe

was a cavernous old concert hall,

and you and I the only audience

slumped low in velvet cushioned seats

that smell of hairspray and old cologne

in the back row of the second balcony

in the shadow-dark,

hunkered down

so as not to be found and ushered out

for having snuck in through the stage door

left unlocked by mistake, while we watch

the spotlight far below and listen

to the dress rehearsal of Creation?