Arp 273

Three-egg galactic omelet
Shaping its own frying pan,
One egg for skillet handle,

That concatenated swirl
Is no more than an object
Of pretty contemplation

Through your prosthetic lenses
For you, something to picture
Comfortably and think on—

Think on the forces involved
For galaxies to sizzle,
Pull each other apart,

Arms of stars as ejecta—
Arms of stars flung and torn out
As casually as egg whites.

Little mind, vaster than star
To a bacteriophage,
Perched on your perfect spiral,

Here in your quiet corner,
You know you can’t know, but you
Can sense in the thoughts of you

It’s not just you’re small, stars huge.
It’s the scale, the endless sliding,
Either end beyond all views.