In a magazine
on astronomy,
I read today
the Milky Way
will also disintegrate.
Juxtaposed against
such change,
my experiences,
memories, and ambitions
are telescopically
less than microscopic.
Yet my life feels important
to me. -Habit,
I suppose. A person
goes on even as
it’s clear a powerful
case can be made
for the idea that nothing,
not even matter, matters.
But I’m not going to make
that case because I
have to go to work tomorrow,
and you never know—
I might have a few laughs.
I’ll see people I like
and one gray cat,
and this bankless river they call
the Internet, which
must be observed with interest
in some parts of the Milky Way.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem