Just as earthworms create galleries that exploit the inscrutable pores of space, so do moths & dogs, trees & fish, rain & sunlight, even dream & remembrance. Gravity seeps through it & the everlasting can't help but penetrate. Sometimes we mistake it for the swell of dark that worries us; or think its interstices no more than the breath our cells have abandoned.
We will never know it as “naked space” for there is no purity, no absoluteness forced from any burying. Yet as a hole it may trouble us—why are we what it needs to receive? 
In "afterlife" we will learn of the space worms endeavor to create---all incite intercourse, be it the pores matter pregnant, or those the dead make penetrable. It is the influence of the vanished, the absence decay grows; the appetite that excites the worm; the reassuring dark that surrounds our world.
It is the dead wasting into emptiness, the galleries of which space greatly anticipates.
