Paramecia in a drop of pond,
Specks milling on the wreckage of dead stars,
Motes adrift in several gods’ eyes,
We precede our much foretold demise.
Unapprised of what there’s to confront,
We go on going on until we don’t,
You and I, he, she, it, we and they.
The noun names us. The verb takes us away.
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