Ponder with me, if you will,
Those distant cousins who crafted language.
To emerge, erect and erect from
The shadows, the lack, the before,
Into the mistakes of Eve. Imagine
The poetry rolling through
Hills of tongues, fjords of teeth,
Just to taste it and birth bird song.
Imagine how the moon conspired
To create romance and lust,
The Sun spawning wonder and the guteral sound of art,
Doubt oozing out of the swollen snakebite
And the venomous glee in being
The smith of words just to hurt.
Ponder the creation of song and wails,
The utterance of a messiah and the horns of Jericho,
The white horse and death rattle.