Every One a Has Been

They’re literally uncountable,
The exact number of generations
Of people that have existed.

You can estimate, maybe fairly
Accurately, to some round number,
But you can’t state precisely

Even which generation was the first
From which to start counting, or when.
They’re literally uncountable,

All the humans who have lived and died.
You can throw out some huge number
Digestible by algorithm, by computer,

But you can’t envision that in your skull.
They’re literally unknowable, all
Your ancestors, your kin, invisible,

Unnameable, although they all had names.
In fact, that would be the best place
To begin, if you could begin—with names.

Your earliest ancestors to have their own names,
Start with them. Imagine knowing all
Those names, all of the names since then.

If you could do that, if you had the brains
To rehearse every last one of the however
Many billions and billions of humans named,

Summoned to one session of sweet silent thought,
Maybe then you could comprehend, could sense,
How many, really, you have been.