Looking Down

Looking down, the fear

is that the magnitude
of making out the Sphere

will tax their fragile
certainties: that these
two golden sentries 

will miss something central
which, if missed, would
shoot a hiss through

our Existence – as if from
an angry sentient snake
intent on ruining the odds.

The problem was, there
were no gods to save
the day or night –

merely nervous guards
whose imperfections lent
inevitable risk to every

flight we might decide
to take. Existential flu
comes often in the wake

of what they haven’t seen:
we shake involuntarily –
a private psychic

earthquake for which
we can’t name a cause.
No one knows the laws.








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