Little ants on the table and a bug so small
it looks like a speck. I just saw a Matt Damon movie
about an experimental colony of small people, shrunken
in response to overpopulation and food shortages
and—you know, extinction.
But I wonder if we will make ourselves small because
that’s just what we do to ourselves—
Not being enough.
And being like ants, replicating to be more. More than enough.
To make sure we’re here for whatever it is we’re here for.
Of course—there’s the other end: We can make ourselves giants.
And be less. We can bully ourselves
into the universe and hover over everyone and everything
like a stalking president—or anyone struggling
We take in air—soap bubbles on a wand—
blowing up and blowing out until we pop and all that’s left
are specks of spit and a belief of impotence and insignificance.
What we don’t get is that we don’t disappear—no matter how small or
large we are, or were. There’s that essence, you know. It’s inside it’s
outside, the line so so fine.