| |
this morning as flashlight beams of sun shone
through the smoky density of leaden fluff,
and patches of dying yellow stubble glinted like
a trail of spilling doubloons abandoned by the retreating Fall,
I thought of cosmologies:
the man of clay, the sky divided by the serpent,
a patriarch tired of sitting in the dark,
a mother gestating brawling gods into the world.
and then there's the really silly one about these two microscopic blobs,
joining then splitting like some animated bubbles of spit,
dancing and writhing to a snake charmer's flute,
welling up like so many uncalled spirits,
and plopping into the world all bloody and screaming.
out of the dark.
in all myth i could recall,
formless darkness became the Before while light became the Shaper.
dark marked devils and death, the fearful void,
and light the heralding of angels, life, and birth.
yet here before me, i plainly see,
it is the play of fuzzy dark and accidental ray,
that make the dying stalks shine into the world.
with this remark, all myth within my mind recoils in fear,
fleeing out my ears in steaming shrieks;
the heavens ruminate,
angels weeping, demons pissed as hell,
all their fearsome purpose held at bay,
by the simple one-word, testimony: play. |