Our earth seems big to us:
It takes a long time to go around the world, after all.
And sitting with our own thoughts every day
Makes us feel that we are all there is
Even though we know we're really small.
How easy it is to get waylaid
By unkempt emotions swirling through our heads.
Such petty matters in the grand scheme of things
Will have no relevance when we're gone
But still keep us tossing and turning in our beds.
You certainly knew that art:
You managed for endless nights to keep me up
Grappling with guilt and fear and tears over imagined sins
Why couldn't I have had the sense to know
That these were mere storms in a teacup?