Back at the Beginning of the World

Back at the beginning of the world,
when the amoebas got together to caucus
about what grand thing they would become next,
ideas were traded, expanded upon.
A plan was set, and some small part of you was made.

Your atoms,
chunks of blue and red with swirling electrons
were constructed and propelled forward,
inhabiting the bodies of sea slugs
and monkeys, Cro-Magnon hunters,
Pope Joan, Galileo, and Passolini, finally landing
here,
where I found you,
generous and insecure,
in a tee-shirt and all-stars,
having been left at the bar by another man,
who, for some unfathomable reason,
walked away without you.

There are physicists, and maybe philosophers,
who crunch numbers and talk trajectories,
who measure probabilities and possibilities like they were
weather patterns, or inevitable global events:
earthquakes, tsunamis, catastrophic lottery jackpots.

Matter only wants more matter,
and I can't have you either.