Mere mortals stretched out, living out across a blue marble in a vast space vacuum. Their lives are meaningless with the macrolense, absolutely critical and vital with the micro. You could not pitch this story to any TV Hollywood executive. It is too large in scope and fantastical in nature. Space, where planets are like mancala, where spectator stars streak and fall brightly, then disappear; Coins tossed into a wishing well. Fingers crossed on barefoot astral weeks. Feel the grass, cool and smooth, underneath the sole, between my toes. Stepping with the whole foot, no tiptoes. Ballet slipper pirouette daydream. Costly lion’s roar, sounding alarms all over this zoo we call our home. Manic panic disastrous, dammit. Coming up from the pool slowly. Breathing what we can before submerging ourselves back underneath. Some amniotic fluidic blanket touching “dawn’s highway bleeding”. Porpoises and purpose. Pride and Prejudice. Simultaneous watermelon song. Casts filled with blood. Craning the neck in hopes of a phone call. Diametric attitude about life figures it would be just as well.