Picture wave after wave of horseshoe crabs swarming
up beaches to spawn in spring: they have emerged this way
for 450 million years, survived a dozen mass extinctions.
Think of the millions of hens’ eggs cracked and dropped
on hot griddles in diners, mess halls, farm-to-table
breakfast spots across the map on just one Tuesday.
And think of the microbes that pour in to feast
on those chewed eggs, tens of trillions of bacteria
per gut, each germ the hub of its own universe, as I am,
as is the girl who sleeps on the dump and sorts trash for a living,
and the man whose house by the sea stands empty 50 weeks a year.
How long do you think I can sit on my front steps, barefoot,
sleeves rolled, deeply pleased that the sun has journeyed
93 million miles to nestle its head in my lap?