Once in a while,
I look at you—
You, set so high or low,
Like hydrogen in the sun’s corona,
If you know,
You precariously perch,
Between existence and vanishing.
I enchant many ways to find you, but still,
The odds slip through my grasp.
The statistical probability
Of Schrodinger’s cat is alive or dead
Overshadows the chance of me finding you!