The First tremor

”twas clotting dark, before the gods awake,

Into deepest sleep, where breaths collapse.

No form, no time, no light nor sound,

Only silence stirred, a whispered path.

Then fully awakened, a voice explodes,

That shaped the sky, that trembles and quakes.

Fire and ether in dance entwined,

stars root out, in undergrowth.

Whence they bloom, and sprout, and grow,

In scattered shapes, in rigid forms.

A yearning vast, a desire deep,

The laughing, crying, docile throng.

The waters stirred, the embers soared,

The sun was cast, its golden breath.

Yet who can say what willed it so?

Or if the song was born of death?

Perhaps no watcher, none who knows

Who lit the sun, when night decays?

Yet who can say who willed it so?

Perchance not even the shining sage.