Even now, knowledge
Of the human mutation rate
Is poor. The forks in the road
Can’t be seen from this window.
Who knows when they were
Or where they might go.
The very old man
Who knows statistics,
Who knows that to guess the past
Is as complex as guessing
The future that shapes
All of this, drawing us on
Like a current drawn by falls,
He’s the one who calls and calls.
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