AS IF

Too much beauty, 

when viewed all at once,

is disturbing to the eye 

and makes
no sense.

It's as if 

we have no choice 

but to see 

what's beyond 

as odd and expendable—

as if, all along, 
it has just been the outside

world versus us.

But of course 

we can't see

it's this whole outlandish place—

from the dirt underfoot, 

to the oceans on the planet,

to the whole enthralling, 

utterly chaotic 

fever dream of a universe—that's essential;

and it's the erratic actor
who fritters and struts

that cares too much,

and yet, is superfluous—

born uncertain, 

gone just 

as mysterious.