beasts that ride the currents of the open ocean, aloof.
They have not always been a specimen
of awe. Fifty-six million years ago
they traveled Earth on four legs. Sinonyx
had no name before the age of man;
it was described only
by its hunched back,
mottled fur, and appetite for flesh.
By waves it romps in the sand, cackling
like its predecessors. Paws find water,
salty brine that would transmute fangs
to waning straw.
From itself to “cetus”;
monsters of the sea, forming
long and spear-like to pierce the riptide.
Dips and bobs, straying from the shore as it morphs.
it bares its needle bone teeth.
Now the whale, the great beast;
a far cry from the fry
it was centuries ago. If I don’t push you
how will you evolve?
Change comes through struggle, the experience of pain.
You will be a new specimen, beauty
striding on four scraggly legs. Once you’ve had enough,
you will shape, bite, swim your way back
and master your domain.