Look at your hand
And think of this:

However close
You concentrate,
You’ll never see
Those elfin, subatomic crumbs
Crammed in there,
Undecayable;
Existing even when
That bog you’re buried in
Is swallowed
By a dying sun.
And think of your descendants
Ticking their hours away;
Reckoning decades
By the clicks
Of my slim quarks
Thumping after you forever.

Look at your hand
And think of this.