Gene pools interned,
mutations stamped alien.

Chromosomes perfected
along posterity’s belt.

Our species replenished
flawless, unblemished.

Long ago we offered our children –
kindling of wood, blade sharpened
under a patriarchal sun.

Fearless now, Gods of science
climb twisted ladders of DNA;
measure time on molecular clocks;
transcribe the blueprint of our genes;

embed in the womb
mother lodes of gold.

What shape will take
if diversity makes no dent
and we choose, instead,
to invent
our own waking form?