We’re just two small things in this world, you and I.
When we were born there were so many others here,
and when we are gone, there will be more.

And someday when everything Here
least expects it, the Earth itself will breathe
just one last time.
And all the other planets will think not of us
but of how at just the right moment,
out of the billions of dazzling lights around them,
something looked like a perfect blue drop
suspended in their methane sky

everything looks different.
Patterns fold, a kaleidoscope
of changing light,
different with each subtle shift
of the looking glass