There are seven collapsed dimensions
So the equations say
Incomprehensible shapes
Smaller than atoms
Still more ubiquitous
Forward and back
Side to side
Up and down
Along the rivers of time––
Those four remain
But what of the others?
Folded, crushed
Into what?
In their contortions
Are they the space between us?
Was their divide
An intangible civil war
Fought between dimensions?
Then from whom
Was the secession?
What do they contain?
Anything
Or Nothing
Our conscience
Maybe God?
Do we affect them?
Do they us?
Even if we knew
Could we shift
The current?
Perhaps it’s best
To stick to these four
So we needn’t
Misunderstand things
In eleven dimensions
Copyright 2010 Andrew Whiting
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