must look so small, undetectable even,
from the vantage point where I imagine
a god could see me, and I do sometimes
imagine a god like a sentient star
out beyond where our instruments
could find it, then I talk myself
out of the image. Out of the concept
entirely. From a distance, I know
I’m an ant tunneling my way
through sand between plastic panels,
watched—or not—from outside.
My puny movements on this planet,
all the things I’ve done or built
with my own body or mind, seem
like nothing at all. But from the inside
this life feels enormous, unlimited
by the self—by selfness—
vaster even than the sparkling
dark it can’t be seen from.
Copyright © 2026 by Maggie Smith. Originally published in Poem-a-Day on March 2, 2026, by the Academy of American Poets.
