Once, you were prehistoric, full of dark thirst for newness,
full of that urging ache to crawl. Only
I saw you as you crept quietly across this desertscape.
Soft mud hardened at the touch of your tracks.

I hold you now: a matted footprint in my palm.

Your specimen is evidence of me.
My microscope here is a mirror; it is clear glass reflecting back as I squint through its lens.