Chanceby Lee Slonimsky
They looked alike: a certain trilobite
and saw-toothed leaves, at one quick glance.
Except five hundred million years had passed
between their eras; now we wonder if
resemblance is a kind of modest proof
that certain archetypes, sunshrined, always last
while others vanish.
Yes, the fading light
confuses views of bats and swifts. We sense
a common logic in their flits and glides,
the same that joins our veins to those in leaves,
a pterodactyl to a darting wren,
or skin to bark.
The way a cold gust moves
these rippling leaves is what finally decides
which seed goes where. What nation we’re born in.