anthropocene

After all, aren’t we temporary, like black moon, Aren’t we players of the same play, You and I, two infinitesimal, inseparable beings; I have found divinity in the wind, its fingers slithering between Twigs, combing its way to the weave of my hair, To the wrinkle of my neurons. My love, we are ants! What can you not understand About ants? I need a fifth, sixth limb or a different skull. A weird one, like orange peel. An orange expanse of brain. I focus on your lips. It is dry on one side, breaking like Pangaea. On March, I imagined my grandmother Entering the gates of sky; marching up even though She, too, is a six-legged bug. My love, the universe is not benign. Let me dream of sun, for once; Let me bicker with hypothesis. As far as I know, nobody has Proved nor disproved soul. Isn’t that a good thing? I am curious how my grandmother hauled Her thorax up the steps, what trivia She spat on the bouncer; if she laughed With her characteristic rasp, Or if there was a need to speak At all. I lay my scalp on your shoulders. The clouds freefall on my eyes. The rain freezes in virga, and Everything breaks, like waves, at once. Everything pauses For this love enduring, This love palpitating, pulsating, Senseless in pursuit, optimistic, Craving, like an addict, Meaning from the Enormity, the absurdity Of the atomic.