No crawling fish, freshly-homed on solid earth looked down and saw these veins of life.
Where cells like parchment waited to dissolve on winter soil no mighty lizard paused to swoop and gaze upon these paths of inner life so fine.
No ape, nor even brutish magnon, put down club or spear to think on inner waters gone, where perfect flow had been.
And yet you let me see, below my feet, the glory of the husk, whose musk, the kiss of dusk…
Was yours…
©Copyright Stephen Tanham, 2016
Sue Vincent's Daily Echo 
A very nice post. Thanks for sharing!
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