Snapshot 05 October 02005

This anniversary of my brother's death
brings snow to the mountains, rain
to the valleys. Still half-sleeping,
I stand at the window and see golden
birds flying --

maple leaves. I am told it is possible
to write one's genome in one long
line of code, in a leather-bound book,
and a century from today some
scientist can lift

that book from the shelf and make
your twin. No bit of you need survive,
not one cell, not one eyelash, not one
drop of blood. Rhinoceros, platypus,
maple tree, you.

Comments

[Jilly]

just lovely

[greensmile]

And you were told correctly. This poem makes is clear that we need poets. I'm still deciding about scientists, even though I am one.

[SaraS]

This is beautiful.

[SB]

>And you were told correctly.

Don't you find that astonishing?

Yes, we need scientists. And we need poets, better educated than I am, to write about science.