The Microuniverse

What an eerie thing for mind,
So far, to only sense self
In a microuniverse

Of human organism,
A local sack of breathing,
Aching, hungry, excreting,

Pleasure-craving, mortal flesh,
Given mind isn’t mortal,
Isn’t an organism,

Isn’t confined to any
One animal, is a mesh
Of minds in conversation,

The sum of interactions
Between them, going on now
For millenniums, longer

Than enough generations
That the bodies have evolved
To better host mind meanwhile.

Yet whenever it comes to,
In daylight or in small hours,
The mind discovers itself

As an awareness confined
To a small, burbling cosmos
Of one animal, grumbling.