We construct so many ugly things –

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the tacky, jerry-built and tumbledown.

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The motel strip that draggles into town, 

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malls thrown up in a frenzy 

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of architectural cliché, daubed-on facades.

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The big-box stores, big boxes 

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stranded on a raft of parked cars. 

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Space assaulted by our careless need

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to fill it up.  

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At least they won’t last, we think 

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morosely. Thirty years and they’ll collapse.

 

Much that is beautiful will not last either. 

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But beauty has, we hope, a slightly better chance.

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That’s all it takes. Matter maintains

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only the tiniest advantage over anti-matter 

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– one particle in a million million. It’s still enough

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to fill a universe with stars.

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In all the ephemeral collisions 

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between humanity and space, there’s hope

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we might achieve a balance on the side of grace, 

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a slight preponderance of beauty.

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