Athazagoraphobia II

I hope the sweet Pennington crinoid in my dresser knows that I love it.

That even across 300 million years, another creature believes it to be beautiful.

And while I hold him, 

Just for a second, 

I can reach my hand to him across the great expanse

between our blades of time.

Maybe in another 300 million years, another earthling will dig up my ribcage,

Lithified and loved by lime like those before me.

He will behold it just as I behold sweet crinoid,

And feel the ever-growing fan of time 

Collapse before him much the same.