I was alone with the earth and the sun before you
came along: there was no life, no song, not even words.
My hope had been lost to the breeze, reveries strung up
on imagined poplar trees. Before war, before Ramses. You
were still nebular then, too embryonic to be captured by
the tip of my fountain pen. Before fear, before rain,
before prose or pain.
I was left to despair,
to beat hard ground until it yielded
love somewhere. This was before the Lord’s prayer,
before Lord—and I swear I cried gold on the day the moon
broke its mould and released you. Out of the strata of
the rock and the bacteria of yet uninvented livestock,
you came forth. My new sun.
In the Beginning
