Notty Bumbo, 2018
Did they tell you in school
How the Sun remains intact?
How burning and burning it spins
And will spin far longer than we will live?
There were many things I failed to see,
Hanging like fruit I could not name,
And I come upon these small things by chance,
Always feeling foolish at the seemingly incomprehensible.
There were times I recall when an insect appeared,
To someone still quite small,
To be capable of my annihilation,
Despite being focused on other insects.
This is the world I have come to know,
Where everything is not what it seems,
Is not even pronounced the way I was told,
And there are no words for joy in this world
We falsely believe is of our making.
How even with the Sun billions of miles away
It burned my flesh every summer,
Led to hallucinatory fever dreams,
Even in the deep summer nights of the Midwest.
As I sought answers then, I seek them still,
And as then the answers dance random across the screen,
And the wonder I felt as I feel it still,
For the shear accident of this small existence
Granted by the slow turning
Of this and every Universe.