Genesis

With primal intellect,
our oiled song
drips through spiny silver
held by spring.

Black-tar drops
drip to a point-like ball,
flooding flat-laid pine,
stripped off—
dead bark.

Wayward lines,
deep in the white we sink;
fibers pulling us into our place.

Words through space and
nuclei within
mitochondrial-like DNA.

Hatchlings—
we intone from dead-dry leaf,
“Lee lo vee yo va
ya vexum vay.”

Learning as we learn
we come to ask,
“Who is it wished us to
come crawling out?”




(first appeared in WHRRDS)