How Evolution Works
Can you hand your feet
over
to an untrodden road
and wander, wonder,
maybe meander beyond
your ancestors’
immigrant lives,
allow intoxication to
enter your life
in rain sifted moonlight
glazing the trail
ahead?
Like a silver stream
in July
sun blazing overhead
pouring unceasingly,
gleaming over granite
boulders in every weather.
Your bronze skin
creased
by the path, by the
strangers
upon whom you gaze and
befriend,
by the triumphs and copious
blunders
you’ve agreed to
shoulder, this strange
tiredness, the shimmering
mornings --
a cup of dark coffee, a
stand of birch trees,
a squirrel or two
scampering up
a thick Douglas fir
trunk, air so alive
you could sing, and
you emerging into the day
forever stumbling
along this twisting trail,
the world’s now your
tavern, a smiling drunk
finally thankful for
his failures, aging into
the tenderest
wholeheartedness,
and savoring every slip-up, every sip.
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