Hymn to Hyperobjects

It's almost a kind of inverted Platonism isn't it? Where the forms are real objects so massive and strange we can hardly see them. Time to break out the Shelley.

THE AWFUL shadow of some unseen Power
Floats though unseen among us,—visiting
This various world with as inconstant wing
As summer winds that creep from flower to flower,—
Like moonbeams that behind some piny mountain shower,	5
It visits with inconstant glance
Each human heart and countenance;
Like hues and harmonies of evening,—
Like clouds in starlight widely spread,—
Like memory of music fled,—	10
Like aught that for its grace may be
Dear, and yet dearer for its mystery.