(After Richard Dawkins)
We are moving, always,
towards the light.
A million million years
some tender surface
in us sought the touch
without weight, a little
warmth, from above.
What little motor
drove us from the shadows
and stopped upon
the glow, a moving spot
we chased a million
million years before
we grew a cavity
within which we could
find our bearings?
Now the light we sought
was not just here
or not, but here
or there, and we could
find our place
long before we saw
the image of the sun.
_____
Cf. "A Tension in the Clearing"
