Specimen 47B

Specimen 47B

At first, we believed it was alive—
a new form of alien intelligence,
its pale tendrils probing the air
as if mapping invisible dimensions.

We kept it under observation,
inside a glass enclosure—
large enough for light to enter,
small enough to keep mystery contained.

We noted its rate of expansion,
the way it sought brightness
but recoiled from touch.
Some said it was reaching for home.

Weeks passed.
It continued its quiet reach,
curling and twisting,
like a thought growing
more complicated than the mind that made it.

We spoke in hushed voices around the case,
half in reverence, half in fear—
until someone whispered,
Maybe it’s reaching to find itself again.

And suddenly, the question
hung there between us, glowing—
or perhaps it was a root thing after all,
forgotten in the dark,
remembering how to live.