We Are A Kind Of Map
A buzzer-beating 3-point shot reveals
We're born to know the truths about this world,
But it's too much: a larval fly conceals
Itself till it's grown wings and they've unfurled;
A virus has the key for just the cell
Where it can flourish; that same cell, in dying,
Creates an army ready to repel
Precisely that invader or die trying.
Of course that's metaphor, but not a lie,
Not just a way of trying to impose
Some sense on senselessness, a useless "Why?"
We answer till we like what we suppose.
We'll make mistakes—but make them unafraid:
We see the world with eyes the world has made.
10:22:24 PM 
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