I stand on a river bank, the swirling waters beckon.
A bright yellow circle, two eyes, a mouth, no nose, rushes by.
The original, the prototype, the progenitor, the first smile.
More neon flavors follow, faces slicing the virtual current.
What symbol is my avatar, my vessel, my surrogate? 
Shall I posit myself in a signal to take a dip? No nose.

A sensible dinosaur would grok the waters first, 
Olfactory to the headwaters: stream, tributary, river.

The resurrection is a sooted flurry of ancient plankton.
Trilobites repurposed: Clear-cuts and strip mines in the Taiga.
A new frontier where fights over oxygen are common. 
Some may try to re-grow limbs, swim back upstream.
If the sea becomes anoxic, does it matter to an anaerobe?

This path does not support cumulative knowledge.
I will remain here at the terminal, put a taproot down.

Categorized as Poetry

By S. Felton

S. Felton is a writer, photographer and amateur naturalist.

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