Nothing Special

Don’t get invested in this.
There’s just no comparison.
The moon keeps drifting away.

The earth’s rotation’s slowing.
One day the sun will explode.
There are no immortal poems.

Sure, you’d love to be well-loved.
Not to worry—you’ll forget
And be, in turn, forgotten.

So, why are you doing this?
Look, I can give you a glimpse
Of a chipmunk on a rock,

A lizard doing push-ups
On a green-grey lichen patch,
A poet pleased to keep notes.