A civilization in a microscope
With its collective intellect
Through spyglass and binoculars
Tries to make us out as well.
It toils over a cosmic project
How to survive, to forestall collapse.

And we smash their galaxies with a needle’s tip
In an instant with chaos.
For us — in a second,
For them — in billions of years.
Their prophets will exalt
The lab technician as the Universe’s author.

But we too are far from the Creator,
We hunt among the stars — in vain.
In imaginings of heaven and of hell
You might as well think He is not.
Let us not deceive ourselves, He is everywhere,
Every moment. Admit it, people.