Chaos Seeking Shape

Something in us insists on equilibrium In a universe whose first law is decay We build the symmetric thing, the balanced thing The thing the second law will take away The atoms in my hand are statistical The hand itself is a fluctuation, brief and warm But the hand keeps reaching for the steady state Inside the storm Inside the storm there is a kind of animal That arranges pebbles into rows That carves the cave wall, that names the constellations That seeks the shape the universe forbids it knows Maybe consciousness is what entropy looks like When it briefly turns and looks at itself Maybe the seeking of the shape against the chaos Is chaos seeking shape, with no one else There is no one else There is no one else The seeker and the storm Are not separable The seeker and the storm Are not separable