Looking Back

The whole globe words crawl around
Hangs humble as your mother
Humble as a button on

That shroud, and it is splendid,
The shroud at least, all those lights,
Swirls, waves, clusters, and spirals

Bursting and sailing the night.
The globe, however, is not
As splendid. Rather pretty—

Blue marble, green bead, white clouds,
All that—but the awe you feel
Every time you sense it whole

Stems from your shock at how small,
How fragile, etc.,
Your spaceship, your home, your ark.

That’s just about how we feel
Every time we’re well out past
The atmosphere of your skull.