Sphere Poem by Brian Condra

We are the seconds turning
Into minutes,
Into hours,
Into days,
Into years revolving round the sun.
The slow evolution
Sifting through the cosmos,
As though these inventions were real.
For the hand which made time made man.
This conundrum of our fantasy,
Our centric delusion.
The construction of truth.

Still the will to live is the strength to wonder.
What if? We ask, and answer,
While the eye of the watchmaker
Splits a quantum into the finite,
Gives shape to blind infinity and peers beyond.