One hundred thousand suns burst their rinds,
dispense pools of swirling light -
before names, before time, spontaneous tendrils
hemorrhage passionately. Celestial white
splinters like porcelain. Without remorse each
stabs the fertile soil of night.
Atlas groans under the mass, fingers claw
toward stability, bending, shrugging, shifting,
hoisting each outburst into position.
Picking up my guitar, eyes closed,
empathic fist clenched as an in-breath tightens
each muscle before the down-stroke.
Poised, without plan, silver strings
cower beneath my hovering hand,
chords slammed through a Sunn Amp.
I mimic the concert of God –
Agni ejaculates red streams of semen
one rogue ember penetrates a crack in the egg,
congealing softly. Denizens of Eternity
stand to admire, “Fire! Fire! Fire!”
and Infinity bursts into bloom.
Notes like ash drift from the eager womb,
seeds burrow, sprout songs. Incessant pulsing
moves the rapt onlookers to applause.
One whispers, “Hush”, and then conception,
gestation, birth.
A spiral of milk piques full nipples.
Sorcerers and scientists explain how
continents were knit together, how stray notes
strung randomly are subject to no magic.
The full belly grows warm with spawn,
igneous arms lift the dawn, infant fingers rise
into cerulean skies, wiggling cloud-ward.
The child is laid under a crescent cradle,
golden bough gently tilting
spills pearl white milk to young Earth;
first breath, the infant suckles…
there has been a birth.
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