A new poem.
We live between cold sky and hard earth
in an angry world, uncaring, hard to please,
indifferent to us and our plans,
yet one human being can think enough of himself
to launch this thing:
Is it our clothes that make us so vain,
so unwilling to consider our unimportance?
Or does every animal think itself
the only pair of feet upon the earth
the only creator of this,
this unreclaimed ejection from a human mind
something no one wanted or asked for
and yet, if it’s timed just right, hit with enough force
it will streak across the sky
like another sun