The vital jolt, the spark of life,
the fifth humour still unseen,
the pouring of protons across a membrane
that somehow leads to twisty genes
and sex and birth and sex again
and love and tools and hunting
and sex and birth and love
and homes and music and sex and art
and wolves becoming dogs.
Then sex and birth and farms
and maths and paper
and sex and love and on and on
and on, electricity rushing through
particles and brains, and now we keep
the blue lightning in tins
and run clocks and toys and torches
to burn brightly at night
because there is still something frightening
about the ancient dark that remembers
us as particles bouncing off each other
when the moon hung low in the sky.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 20, Issue 2.
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