De rerum natura: this is why a cypress, Grown on a windy rock, will find its trunk Curved to the shape of a long-shanked fishhook, A straight line shot sideways from the ground
To swing hard sunward just before it peaks. The young bark, lime green with fertilizer, Cries fiat lux and lines between two points, And learns quick; in a foot you’ll see him turn
His further son to that simple child’s course, Hoisted human for a sail, pissing off the wind, That hits head on: and pivots mast from roots To divide his own airflow by sine of theta,
For that old thing which to name is to invite, As you notice with a chance to get acquainted, Comes with teeth and claws more brown than red. Whatever she eats, it changes color as it dries.