I'm reading about black holes, but right now

the book is about how human beings can't

sense much actually—if we could

we would wake up each morning

and see the universe

expand, receding, it would seem,

from this very spot. It's relative:

every point in space

plays center. A poet wrote once, outside

dogwood tree is losing its mind. I love those

lines. But, today there is no

tree. No white petals

cascading obscenely down. How is it I believed

the insanity of one small plant could save this

city? What's out there. Blackness. I

can see.