Wouldn’t it be better if we were microscopic
Little tardigrades rumbling around in the sand
Say it’s not an if it’s an is
Say I look up at night and feel small enough
Say I could be microscopic if
I didn’t know the theory of relativity
Or some mangled humanities version:
Space and time are relative
All things therein are relative
And relative to me, my mind is the ocean
Not the grain of sand
That’s the catch:
My theory of relativity stains everything
An ugly anthropocentric color
But if I had to choose between thinking
Of Sagittarius A, swallowing the center of the galaxy
Of our sun, clutching Earth in a red, dying embrace
Of entropy, the deathly chill at the end of the universe
I’d rather my thoughts continue, relative to myself
Relativity