This is the World

The world’s too big, you know;
Even when we stand, too often
Upon others, to shake fists of
Presupposing power, we won’t

Earn a living dot to be perceived

From far away—even, say, from
Worlds known and yet unknown

Is height-to-planet ratio somehow
Universal? On smaller planes or
Habitably larger, are we there

Proportioned in some way so
That our diminishment remains?

And must that make sense to
Have not one of us be tall enough
To overwhelm the rest—and is

This maddening thought or comfort?

Tell the ruler of Babel or the director
Of Auschwitz: they built insanely
High and wide, never valuing

The true size of Earth beyond
Provision of a circular base on
Which to keep the demons’ scale
Tray that they desired to keep
Unbalanced toward their part,

Never mind that justice rode upon
The other side, preparing to upend;

At the last, we are one by one, no
Monument to detect from space

Which has to be enough—we can
Build each other up, thus making
Better, reaching obelisks to scrape

A spiritual sky upon the Earth

 

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