A Theory of Creation

“Let there be Form”
Pleaded Something
That felt too much
Apart, too distant
And so the concentration began –
A hunkering down
Of gasses, a conviction
A coolness, a slowing down of
Molecules,
Until there in the center
Of the universe
Came spinning gently
This liquid blue orb.

And how lovely she played
The soliloquy, the echo
Of her tidal breath
Upon an infinite stage
Her wholeness turning
Like a single eye
Across ninety million miles
To the source of light
That held her
Perfectly lost
In the perfect love
That is living.

But something happened
Some compelling spot, or
Some eclipse
Of the soul
And she knew
In that moment
Her vulnerability
Her frail liquidity
Her sin, her labor:
Into the groaning air
Thrust a great jag of stone
That would become a tower
And a kingdom

Under the jealous sun
She would begin to conceive
The endless healing:
Wave after wave
The wearing down
The washing of feet
The whispering of prayer
Under the impenetrable walls
While she waits
For her rebirth
And her return
Into someplace distant
And apart.