Think through the photograph to the reality
In Cygnus, twenty-one thousand light years away,
And understand to understand, that is to say,
What is a form of ionized ideality.
My fingers are only an arm’s length from my face,
The inexorable fate of the human race.
My eyes can see (only) if my lenses are clear
The remnants of nebulae no bigger than stars,
Erasing the difference between far and near,
Though the idea, the ideal of it, smudges and mars
The time and the rapidity and the distance
Of thought itself, transforming it into mere sense.
The universe reaches, absurdly out of scale,
A clustered everything blinking behind a veil.
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