Spring forth and fly, you creatures,
across the open expanse,
and swim the roiling depths,
and creep and crawl and slither
in nascent ambulation,
with scorn for the dreadful foreboding
of what lurks on the morrow,
when the pinnacle or ruination of life
is scheduled to emerge
from the clay.
D.A. Donaldson maintains a flash-fiction blog whilst laboring as a clerk in a public library.