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.