Snared in sleeplessness, I contemplate

What worlds may exist in the center of a pebble

What poetry burns in the heart of an ant

I wonder what events transpire

In the fog surrounding an atom

And if this world and all its wars and dynasties are

so large after all.

Our sun, and the immeasurable stretch of black space

The twisted starfish of our galaxy

May be a speck of dust on some greater face

To be washed away by

a stray drop of rain

Or a fugitive tear.

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