Consider
the simple
single-celled
amoeba
uncomplicated
by stress surrounding
sex, love
of one gender
reproducing itself
yet never static
shape-shifting
functioning unfettered
impossible
to circumscribe, pin down.
How vast
the twists and turns
of a universe
chock full
of complicated creatures
with countless cells
and unimaginable yearnings
shape-shifters too
often impossible
to identify
to classify
to understand.
Does the microscope exist
that can pinpoint
the parts of love?
Longing?
Tracking the journey
of a soul
must be every bit as hard
as putting an amoeba
in a box.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem