Dance of the Cobra

You do not see, past the test tubes and chemicals plotter charts and ribbon images, all the colors of life and the rhythms of rebirth. You do not hear past the rhythmic rattle and hum of centrifuges and lyophilizers the angelic song of love woven in the fibers of your being. Perhaps it is not meant for you to know the hypnotic beauty which mesmerizes like a cobra till all is forgotten but its fanned neck and weaving head. Perhaps you are meant to be so intently focused on elusive structure, on helical twists and intercalated forms, so that one day our descendants will be able to fathom that dancing cobra.