(NaPoWriMo Challenge: April 15, 2015)

Based on the estimates, real-world evidence turns out to be less extreme than our expectations.

We never find werewolves
where werewolves meet
or correctly gauge the collapse
of collapsible things.
Monsters in the cellar
rifling through our things.
The big boom— cringe and tuck,
and one-eyed peek.
Cycles of melodrama and hyperbole—
Utopia, a big tax return,
the end of days.

Scanning the glut of galaxies
no one is scanning back.
We inhale this universe
alone, merely getting by.
And then a gray whale
sets a world record
for a migrating distance.
And such things are set
increment
by increment,
step
by step. Was our whale

looking for alien whales?
Worried about the judgment
and collapse? Or manhandled
deep-sea paraphernalia?
A whale is just
relocating to evade the mass
of oceanic trash.

Artfully thinking
small.