Email Poem

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Poem

The measure of immensity
is a small step,
just a footfall
snagged by a tufted hole
in the space-time fabric.

The way you fall is the way
you get out of your bed
when the day is already too bright.
All things fall upwards
from the empty seed.

The vastness of insignificance
needs a Dollar Store magnifying glass,
anything more expensive
would only distort perception yet more.

Ant hills climb up themselves’
perception is a rope trick.
There is no such thing
as a summer or winter moon
yet we all know there is.

The infinitesimal cannot be reckoned,
but we feel it crawling,
sense its self-propelled intelligence
re-wiring our brains.

A bloody nose drips on a moon rock
a rock someone had forgotten
to bring back.
Space, like memory,
is full of potholes.

Beyond the mushroom cap,
mind-spores sporadically fail
to make clear connections -

the immensity of what we then miss
returns to space dust
dust we leave boot-prints upon
as we once again
trip over ourselves.

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