The ebb of the reporter's voice leaves me at low tide;
and just when i think our meddling in foreign soil
is about to reap what we sowed in Iraq; (We lied,
after all, about the efficacy of dousing fire with oil)
a rise of another voice reaches out to me and buoys
my hope anew: "Although they look like helmets lost
on a watery battlefield, the horseshoe crabs rejoice
in a yearly dance numbering forty-five million." What cost
they must have seen daily to keep up their dance?
I ponder the report of their kool-aid blue blood
humans harvest to use their immunity enhanced
by half a billion years of fighting bacteria. Their hoods
and scales are not the strongest of their armor.
Our thanks go out to you, O ancient, unasked donor.
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