Maybe things are better than we imagine
if a rubber inner-tube still can send us
drifting down a sinuous, tree-draped river
like the Wisconsin-
far removed from spores of touristococcus.
As we bob half-in and half-out of water
with our legs like tentacles, dangling limply
under the surface
we are like invertebrate creatures, floating
on a cosmic droplet-a caravan of
giant-sized amoebas, without a clear-cut
sense of direction.
It's as if we've started evolving backwards;
mammal, reptile, polliwog, protozoon-
toward that dark primordial soup we seem so
eager to get to.
Funny, how warm water will whisper secrets
in its native language to every cell-yet
we, the aggregation, have just begun to
fathom the gestures.
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