Howard Firkin
When you suspect that you are nothing, you
are right. You are a featherweight, a mote,
untouched, unburdenable as you float
and drift directionless: no from; no to.
Infinity is lots of something blank.
There is no majesty in how you live.
You are not whale or shark or manta ray:
a speck of plankton, living for a day,
consumed unnoticed, scooped up in a sieve,
a green smear on the glass wall of the tank.

Suspicion serves as intellect for things
too simple to require a mind. Accept,
because choice would involve imagining
a something else. Don't try to think. Suspect.