Poems

Your Great Big Infinitesimally Small Life

The clock hanging from the wall
Is the shape of the Sun,
The full Moon,
The Earth.

The little light that comes
Shining under the open window
Shows dust particles occupying the air;
You see them on the floor,
On the sill;
They’re behind eyes rubbed
As the room turns black;
They’re everywhere
As the hand moves,
As the sun sets.

A breeze through the opening and
Your thoughts,
Like the dust,
Scatter.

Truly,
Finally,
There has never been anything to do,
But bear it:
Everything:
All of it.

In its finest moment,
Your species,
Alive,
Knows no greater triumph than to
Flash a moment in a network of life,

Citizens of the immeasurable
Knowing nothing
Not unknowingly,
But intimately,
Feelingly,
Searchingly,
Conjecturing the unfathomable;
Burning through the life of the mind,
Grinding truth to dust:

Though everything to you,
It’s hardly anything:
Bear it.

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