I’m told that I’m a dream produced
by time and space and DNA, that’s organized in such a way
that chemistry and physics are enough to make it dream,
so let’s accept that really there’s no ghost in the machine.

But still it seems that I exist, and isn’t it amazing dreams
can interact with other dreams,
do calculus and higher math,
gaze at the stars, make art, make love,
investigate it all and find
we’re just another accident of chemistry and space and time.