Dark

I am dark matter
solid as Hades
transparent as the twirling
tendrils of ghostly
breath, rising like mist
from the river styx.
I scream questionable things
from the tops of large buildings
hoping somebody will look
up, not at me,
but the sky-
face tilted toward eternity
and an orchestra of
celestial beauty, neck exposed.
I am stable, yet also
exquisite in the looseness
of my weave.