In Passing

We have an incredible inability
to perceive miracles of wing, or web
to acknowledge astonishing measures of survival
below unfathomable sea surfaces,
to comprehend rubber-coated creatures
cleansed and webbed and cracked by cold,
to discern sands mislaid inside
baked, vacant forevers;
to understand elemental egg-born birds;
to accept our own inevitable spirits, sentient,
raised beyond all pinnacles of joy
collectively conceived.