Squashed Mosquito Poetry

When diversity is the entire universe,
and creatures fly to the horizon –
as is their timing, not ours,
then we will evolve in their death
and we will evolve in their life.

This horizon spells life, and creatures
will move across, after this life,
and they will move across again,
after that life too. We do not understand
evolution of souls

and with best intentions, we offer
to pull them back. We create a rescue plan
because we believe we need them
for as long as heaven
doesn’t.

What heaven can we bring to earth?

It could be a static museum collection,
a prized collection where Extinction
was the looter of laughing owls and long legged
wrens and many more songs
we can only guess at.

Their whistles and shrills
are bones for us, their silhouette
a milestone, or lesson
perhaps, and we open our eyes
to what remains; these treasures on earth.

What heaven can we bring to earth?

Sanctuary is freedom, yes, given at a cost.
To a bird, it’s just a thread from the sky,
but for those who use no wings,
it is a cage from the earth,
keeping out what may

hurt or die. Yet all those within
can saunter, sing, snack.
Those in the in are free to die of old age
while those without must learn
their ways are old and not tolerated.

Though light can tolerate shadows.

For that Tui is a territorial wee thing.
In the beauty of song or swift
flight camber, she is making
her preference of trees known
(those plump berries, that powdery nectar),

but in this sanctuary, there’s more than enough
to go around, more than enough
sugar, coating the sublime songs sung for supper.
And there’s more generations
and more warbling songlines to come.

There is space enough for light and shadow.

And when the sanctuary is the entire universe,
then everything and everyone contained
has a natural order and an original nature
that survives the first man
and the last, like a half millennia
plan is the Sunday that God intended.