Nearsighted

I marvel that my genes,
worn and faded,
continue to be handed down
father to daughter,
mother to son
each successive generation
further from the original—
crisp seams, clearly defined
curves of the double-helix.

Apparently my ancestors
were farsighted enough
to slip a folded bill into
Mother Nature’s bloomers,
a tip for the slight tipping
of the scale in our direction.
What could be more natural
than to select yourself in, especially
when you can scarcely see the scale

let alone forage for food,
arrow an elk, start a fire
to warm your genome by?
Or perhaps luck left them
large signs—visions
to show them the way. Or
maybe a clear-sighted muse
deposited morsels directly
into their mouths

determined to preserve our
perspective of the world—
our golden halos encircling
even the dimmest light,
our indiscriminate washes of color
the greens the blues the reds
running into each other
a blur of difference
getting along just fine.

Copyright © 2019 by AJ Saur, from Particles in Motion (Murmuration Press).