Motes

I consider the stars and the oceans

Sublimity of space

Abysmal depths

 

It makes me sick to think

Infinity still begs the question

What next?

 

We think and feel

Much too much
In respect of what we are

 

What now and why?
Try not to worry

Life's too short

 

-shorter still

From such a vantage point

As the heavens

 

Where motes of dust

Are galaxies " and nothing matters

As it all goes slipping through the cracks