DEEP
Something buried deep
in two-minds whether
it should endeavour to find us.
And, searching for us,
sending out feelers
throughout our history,
whether
it should invest
in the polar, or take
the equatorial route
and there we are,
none the wiser, completely
unsuspecting
as its tendrils work
there way
up
out of fecund darkness
into the best of our light
so much ourselves, true
to us and yet eerily alien
as if its purpose, incredibly,
be that of
proving my point:
there is nothing that
is paradox
that does not
include (I would
prefer “incorporate”)
all
we are too.
