I came into existence all too briefly, that is
existed briefly in the jittery expanse, cognizant
for that infinitesimal duration that something was amiss.

Familiar only in the vaguest way, my environment
lent me no warmth or stimulation,
just the faintest flickering, pinpricks in the carbon tarp.

Let us not reduce this to the absurdity
it surely is, someone must pick up the tab
for my spontaneous appearance. Nothing comes free.

I might have staged a walkout,
knowing there would be no compensation
had I floated around long enough.

As it stands, I walk away, ahem, empty-handed,
and feeling like someone had their
Biblical way with me without my consent.

But given enough time all of you
will undergo ergodic heat death and then
we’ll share something, shivering in the nothingness.

Sicilian Canadian poet and storyteller Salvatore Difalco writes from Toronto, Canada. Recent work appears in Cafe Irreal, E-ratio, and Sortes.