Existential

By Katherine Gotthardt 

When in the throes 
of too early morning,
sky flamboyant in darkness,
stars about its forehead 
turning it dizzy 
with its own greatness,
its own vast reach,

it comes to me 
in a thin, tepid current, 
how we are billions 
just like ourselves, 
each with a story to live,
each with life worth telling.

And suddenly I am shaking,
lost in enormity,
alone in negative space,
mammoth perspective
and numbers too high to count.

Here we everyone be, 
sleeping or intrusively awakened,
lights on in the bedroom
or no bedroom at all,
city dweller, villager, 
or solitary traveler,
each beneath thumbs 

of the universe,
casual in everything it offers,
utter randomness 
of good day or bad, 
celebration or abrupt tragedy,
besot with meaning 
or merely one more breath 
exhaled in invisible air. 

Together we stand in the pitch,
eyes toward the same 
supposed heaven,
dubious in our own existence.
Here we are stuck, together, 
energy captured in questions.
Body after corporeal body. 
Always seeking another sunrise.