A horse hair falls into the water and grows into an eel. Even Aristotle believed that frogs formed from mud, that mice sprouted like seedlings in the damp hay. I used to believe the world spoke in code. I lay awake and tried to parse the flashes of the streetlight— obscured, revealed, obscured by the wind-sprung tree. Stranded with you at the Ferris wheel's apogee I learned the physics of desire—fixed at the center, it spins and goes nowhere. Pliny described eight-foot lobsters sunning themselves on the banks of the Ganges. The cuckoo devouring its foster mother. Bees alighting on Plato's young lips. In the Andes, a lake disappears overnight, sucked through cracks in the earth. How can I explain the sunlight stippling your face in the early morning? Why not believe that the eye throws its own light, that seeing illuminates the world? On the moon, astronaut David Scott drops a hammer and a falcon feather, and we learn nothing we didn't already know.
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