I look at nights by Vincent van Gogh,
And see though eyes that feel.
Stars swirl blues and blacks
blending yellow to teal growing green.
Everything moving by planets or
suns with humans such tiny specks.
I wonder if ants see streetlights
twirling orange to whites fading navy.
The light shall fade, dying into day,
eternity of dark before the brilliant rebirth.
We enter their world. Giants uncaring,
we destroy their mounds with a misstep.
Do they worship us in churches of dirt,
praying we accept their offerings of crumbs?
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