Theremin and Tripping the Light

Theremin

Many who hear it picture outer space—
in that uncanny, almost human song,
the sound of all that’s alien to us.

But no, that’s not quite right. The void is silent—
our utter opposite, devoid of voice.
This is something else. Closer, stranger.

A poor soprano’s ghost betrayed and drowned,
resounding through distortions of the sea;
a children’s doll, yearning to be alive.

But stranger still, the bare reality:
the lonesome, half-imagined sympathy
of brain and air’s shared electricity.

Tripping the Light

Daylight’s veil has lifted:
the dark and lifeless infinite
now stretches forth to meet his living eye.

The reeling child, distracted,
instinctive, seeks his absence in
the beauty of the absence of the sky.

There, shining angels borne upon the void
self-immolate and thereby light our world,
and blaze to certain death.

Adrift in mindless martyrdom,
they circle the dread altar of their gravity,
a cavity of black and holy depth.

This ritual is lost upon the child,
who has not yet evolved to worship nothing.
He revels in each scintillating star.

He traces in his mind fresh constellations
that link indifferent depths to human dreams.
Not for mere consolation, but the far-

out thrill in order toward which faith advances.
And, like the stars suspended in the dark,
he makes light, and he dances.

Featured in New Lyre Spring-Summer 2026

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Elijah Perseus Blumov is a poet, critic, and host of the poetry analysis podcast, Versecraft. His poems have been published by or are forthcoming from periodicals such as Literary Matters, Birmingham Poetry Review, Able Muse Review, Think Journal, and others. He lives in Chicago.

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