Evolution

March 9, 2014

Evolution

I never want to stop

noticing the intricacies of life.

If I ever start to, I must tell myself

to bite into a grape, then look at its insides,

the tiny, complex striations, microscopic sections

of fruit, fractally structured; or I’ll go

outside and examine a bird’s feather or beak,

wonder how its body creates such different pieces,

some dense and hard, others fit for flight;

or I’ll go to the aquarium and try to count

how many scales a fish has, looking at how they attach

to its skin so cleanly and precisely, how each

muscular swimming creature has adapted

to just a slightly different environment,

together forming an entire, self-contained system;

or I’ll go to the zoo to watch the incredible,

unthinkable dexterity of the elephants’ trunks,

the giraffes’ tongues, the snow-leopards’ tails.

I look at a child’s hands.

I look at my own hands, notice

each of the bones and tendons,

fitting together so perfectly.

I notice the fine lines across the palm.

I stretch out my arm and marvel

at how far it reaches, and then

how far it has yet to go.