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Poetry

As if the seahorse itself were not improbable enough,
its near cousin the leafy seadragon is brilliant yellow
with white stripes and long, green, leaf-like appendages
trailing in branches from all over its body. Gossamer fins
ripple along its back and neck as it floats calmly among
the fronds of seaweed and seagrass it resembles, feeding
on plankton passing by, larvae, the smallest of crustaceans.
So God gilds the lily, seemingly by habit. Look around—
hummingbird and sequoia, shooting star and dung beetle.
Or the infinite and fathomless grace of your own hands
as they go about their daily work. Mundane choreography
of rhythmic motions in the air—guided by will, or some
force—in gestures that may or may not resemble prayer.


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