The Aleph Hidden Under A Staircase

It’s a sphere

And the atoms are unbound

The fabric is loose

There’s not a sound

It’s a sphere

Where no life has been yet

And all faces are unformed

Looking out and drawing

Their spaces uniform

The suns and all the shapes

Buried in the realm of possible

Probable

Maybe-esque

In the future

But there’s no past

Because even light doesn’t travel

Everything is formless

Everything is tasteless

Before You were born

And before I was born