There is nothing romantic
In the textbooks about oxidative phosphorylation.
The words themselves
Are like two clunky feet
That encumber the tongue that wishes to soar.
I think of it as the intricate flight of electrons
Through immense structures, each as fluent
And organized in molecular language
As a novel is with us, both
Eventually yielding usable energy.
We are like these electrons I think.
We barrel through so many forms,
The great and vast complexities of life,
Just to settle with something simple, small,
Abundant, and invisible to us.