gravity

sometimes i turn my face toward the sun,

close my eyes,

feel its heat on my skin

and melt into the awareness of my existence

were it a few cosmic inches closer

or the oxygen a little less in supply,

i would know that my being here has very little to do with

conscious eating

or responsible bill paying

i would know that my being here has very little to do with me at all

except that it is me here.

and these atoms don't belong to me

(who do they belong to?)

yet they are mine

and this ability to move my feet

isn't my invention

yet i am the one who tells them to move

i am the body they carry through spaces i cannot explain—

matters of physics and biology—

only to arrive at a place that i call my home

are these thoughts even my making?

and how did they enter this mind?

the arrogance

of claiming ownership

the irresponsibility

of denying it

i am made up of seven octillion atoms

(three hundred billion stars in the galaxy)

reactions in this body like the Milky Way

and i alone am one of seven, almost eight, billion

it is a miracle that i am here

it is a mercy that i belong