. . . . . . .

     older than the
     order of things is the
     ear of the
     last trilobite dying with the
     crustaceans of my ancestors in the
     extinction event where the
     sun came in and the
     heat stayed in the
     ocean like a avuncular smile and the

     light dripping the
     meaning of something at the
     handshake of brain and spinal cord shined up early with the
     morning still so close to bedtime that the
     shadows remembered tucking themselves in and the
     long life could have been theirs with all the
     plentiful sleep in the
     boneless night but for the
     unsated whispering creatures mutating for all the
     world to see in the
     hush and the
     slippery melting of dawn's evolving scream.