We are insensate molecules, assembled from the accidental code engraved upon our genes.
Mud that sat up.
Chemicals mingle in our sediment and in their interactions and combustions.
We suppose we feel,
supppose we love.
Clay looks on clay and understands that it is beautiful.
Through us, the cosmos gazes on itself, adores itself, breaks its own heart.
Through us, matter stares slack jawed at its own star-dusted countenance and knows, incredulously, that it knows.
And knows that it is universe.
Mud that sat up.
Chemicals mingle in our sediment and in their interactions and combustions.
We suppose we feel,
supppose we love.
Clay looks on clay and understands that it is beautiful.
Through us, the cosmos gazes on itself, adores itself, breaks its own heart.
Through us, matter stares slack jawed at its own star-dusted countenance and knows, incredulously, that it knows.
And knows that it is universe.
