From the 36th story, the city looks awfully like a eukaryote.
Satellites probably admire Earth’s textures similarly.
This planet is probably a molecule, I think,
The surface of which nests more life—mold?—in skyscrapers, terrace orchards, traffic, the cracks on your lover’s lips.
When scientists do their science thing and peek into their microscopes,
Do they see a molecule?
Do they see a zoom view of another planet, some snapshot of a romantic lake, vessels cruising into war, or even a closer moment like a first kiss, abstract tendrils of new love?
If science can get that close to alternative realities, maybe I should quit my day job to become a scientist.
Or a satellite.
To examine something closely every day is to magnify and dwell in life itself.