Aloft the Eagle's sharpened
Focus gathers in minutae.
We seek the specks of planets
Owned by distant stars.
The beauty's in the seeing
And seeing who we are
Below the level of our conscious
Trite philosophies.
The miracle of sight and self
Awareness honed by gradual
Mutations to complexity.
Below my feet the roots
And sensate fungi recreate
Their own equivalent of vision.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem