It doesn’t know how it arrived, whether from chemicals
Charged by sunlight, choked words spouting from its inchoate mouth
A croak was the first example of its voice, the spume of salt
Perhaps the simple crushing of jaws or breathy exhalation
Was there none other to hear the cry? Was it alone?
Nothing was heard before this, there being none to hear
Even then the rushy beds latent glimmerings
Such sodden green overhanging mossy tricklings
Were still deaf to such calls, they hung back waiting
Did inorganic beings disgorged the tiny particles?
As they smote rock on metallic gaping cloaca
From volcanic core ?
Its eyes bore multiples of stars, if eyes they were
And not dim inchoate cracks in quartz.
It dripped in caves, it lay before it ever crawled
Flopped upon the sticky sediments from which it formed
Fish-seed, bird-seed raimented in solar flares
In sulphuric lakes whorled by lunar shifts
It came to be.
So suddenly alone, did it feel its need,
Its singularity, its need to hide, to bite, to mate, to breed?
Or did it lie starving, burping for another millennia
To churn up another less amorphous, less gasping
In weedy stirring pools of vibrant algae
Did this life fail because there was none other
To hear its call?
Veronica Aldous 2016 All Rights reserved