In Caves of Sky

Bats cry out, and see food with their voices.
In underground pools, eyelids of quick, bleached fish
grow over eyes, and whiskers flicker and brush
the current to unveil their appetite's choices.
Meat finds a way to feed.  How could it not?
To reproduce takes energy, and fuel
for life is life.  The cave of now grows full
of what will be, and bursts, and what pours out
will find its cave in sky and rock and sea
and gush into tomorrow, which will then
create again the past, since repetition
mothers the new, and all its progeny
must blunder blindly, eat and feed and die
for life to live, regardless of its why.

J. B. Mulligan

If you have any comments on this poem, J. B. Mulligan  would be pleased to hear from you.