An Affinity with Infinity
Views on the universe flit round like bats
inside my head. It seems I even dream
of planets and ETs, savor the cream
of nebulae on the Milky Way. The rats
of science brood about the fact that cats
can be alive and dead at once, a beam
of light be waves and particles. Why deem
my cosmic place like dogs asleep on mats?
Though comfortable on Earth (at least somewhat)
I daydream about being on a crew
of rovers zipping fast as light. Though told
that isn’t possible, I am a sot,
drunk on the kaleidoscopic hue
of suns that made both bat and marigold.
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Threaded Mode
