& still my life
seems to matter, to me.
I can’t shake
the dust off this skeleton,
give it back
to the stars
that birthed it.

Always this impulse
toward metaphor,
the selfish need
to bring the universe back
down to size.

The continents drift
at the same rate
our toenails grow.

I’m a black hole.

I’m a supernova with human skin.