There could be a quirk in the conception of time.
For instance, the brief slide of a single herring
In the sights of an ocean bird might be measured,
At the last moment, in a slow-motion of milliseconds,
Each fin spread like a fan of transparent bones
Breaking gradually through the green sea, a long
And complete absorption in that one final movement
Of body and wave together. It could be lengthened
To last a lifetime.
Or maybe there is a strange particulate vision
Only possible in a colony of microscopic copepod
Swaying in and out of the sand eel’s range, swallowed
Simultaneously by the thousands. Who knows
What the unseen see? There might be a sense
Of broadcast, a fulfillment of scattering felt
Among the barnacle larva, never achieved
By the predatory shag at the top of the chain.
And the meadow vole crouched immediately below
The barred owl must experience a sudden and unusual
Hard-hold on the potential.
Death coming in numbers among the small and
uncountable
Might be altered in its aspects. An invaded nest
Of tadpoles might perceive itself as an array of points
Lit briefly in a sparkling pattern of extinction
Along the shore. An endless variety of split-second
Scenes might be caught and held visible in the separate
eyes
Of each sea turtle penned on the beach. Death,
Functioning in a thousand specific places at once,
Always completing the magnitude of its obligations,
Has never been properly recognised for its ingenuity.
We must consider the possibility
That from the viewpoint of a cluster of flagellates
We might simply appear to be possessed
By an awkward notion of longevity, a peculiar bias
For dying alone.
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