Pebbles and Shells.

I dabble my feet in the oceans
of science and literature
and I’m climbing up these giant marble statues
to look over their shoulders;
of Newton
of this mind forever voyaging
of this boy playing on the seashore
and looking out to undiscovered oceans.
Of Mary Shelley
of a nineteen year-old genius
who perhaps didn’t know
what she’d written
the legacy of it.
I look out to these pasts
and I struggle to comprehend
the enormity, or tactlessness
of these thoughts.
And ellipsism
a helpless contemplation
of the randomness
and unknowability of history
seizes me.
I’m the boy on the shore.
Did I pick up a pebble?

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