Darkness and light feed each other in this short, cosmic poem. It opens with a black hole, a "mouth of void" that swallows itself, then flips the image: the same black hole "blowing itself wide open in time." What looks like pure destruction turns into something that gives. Light feeds on the void, and "luminance" showers down like waves breaking on a shore, except the shore is "the growing edge of the universe."
The poem moves from emptiness toward meaning. By the final line, the scattered shine "gathers itself into purpose-mass," a strange phrase that suggests light and matter pulling together into something with direction. The speaker seems awed rather than afraid. Nothing in the poem sounds panicked, and the grand scale feels more exciting than bleak.
The mood is vast, restless, and quietly hopeful. The lack of punctuation and the steady, flowing lines make it feel like one continuous event, as if the universe were creating itself while we watch.