Observable Universe (poem)

universes come in infinite forms, including this poem

a person looking up at the starry sky in awe (Credit: Greg Rakozy)

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I, one human out of eight-point-two billion,

take a hearty bite out of my cinnamon toast,

a mere zero-point-zero-zero-zero-one-mile

saccharine speck on my timeline,

and the observable universe

is over ninety-three billion light years across.

The observable universe

is almost one hundred billion light-years long,

but my universe is right here

in this brown cat

curled up like a spiral galaxy in morning sun,

in this man with celestite-blue eyes

that rival all known nebulae,

in this lunar skin that houses a soul that’s not yet scientifically proven—

and according to an astrophysicist named Sara Webb,

we’ll never know the universe’s true diameter.

In a 13.7-billion-year-old cosmos infinitely vast,

my lifespan seems negligible,

but I’ll live as if this life was a generous

slice of toast with extra cinnamon and honey.

(My zero-point-zero-zero-zero-ones may mean

something or

nothing,

but I know one thing:

there are an infinite amount of things

left to observe

and re-observe deeper,

so I choose the path of eternal seeker.)

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