How Much It Misses - May 23 2025

 

How Much It Misses

May 23 2025



I’ve never been to The Grand Canyon,

peered over the edge

where the earth falls away,

climbed down to its depths.

But still, I find the name puzzling.

The, as if no other canyon

is worthy of the name.

And while grandeur is a word I might say

the only things we call grand nowadays

are openings

pianos

and fathers,

as well as the clock named after him.

A Hotel, perhaps,

and, of course

Central Station in New York,

its Beaux-Arts Concourse

worthy of the name.

The attraction?

Could it be our innate love of the view?

Prey creatures

who favour unobstructed sight,

the high ground,

room to flee.

Is it be our sense of awe

when we feel humbled

by objects and forces

so much greater than ourselves?

Or perhaps it’s the wonder

of something so singular,

wrought

over a span of time

no human mind can grasp?

Which you can see

in a sheer cliff wall;

strata upon strata

like a time capsule

of the great convulsions of earth;

the history of the planet

preserved in rock

before your eyes.

Only in real life

feet on the ground

will I begin to see the world;

the beauty of nature

as well as its menace.

And only standing there

will I feel my inconsequence.

If not on the brink looking down

then its cool bottom

beside a waterfall,

squinting up at the sun

when it briefly appears.

But the would still be presumptuous.

Because on Mars, there’s a canyon 6 miles deep

over 2,000 long.

And the deepest ocean rift

is also 6 miles.

Now this is truly grandeur

too deep to clearly see

with the unaided eye,

too much to take in

in a single glance.

Our smallness, even smaller.

And imperfect human sight;

unaware

how much it misses

how little it sees.