A Star or a Civilization

Life runs through all its fingers,
Chuckling, leaving them nothing

But bone. Minerals, that is.
Fossil echoes of what lived.

But life has so many hands
And paws, cilia and fins,

All sorts of palpable things
To extrude, wriggle, and ditch.

If life makes contact with you
Never ask it what it is,

Never fall in love with it
Or ask it to stay with you

Forever. Never! Never!
Breathe as little as you can.

Lie still. Lie low, and then wait.
Pretend you’re only a flame.

Try not to lick your fingers.
They’ll burn. Pretend you’re a star,

A pattern of changing thoughts,
A few words, a few numbers,

A civilization built
From bricks piled in rammed-earth walls.

That’s the meaning of The Flood.
Life runs an ocean that crawls.