Ab Initio Ad Finem

in Poetry

In the beginning there was –
something,
a shining,
spheres in motion,
spinning,
a perfect blueness,
unbroken.

Sea-borne fragments
hobfin, stumpfoot,
salt-backed,
a memory of gills
the hows of lungs,
the thrill of limbs,
the welcome of now.

The dancers and skippers,
skaters and hoppers,
the totterers
in green forests
and ochre dunes,
among sweet grasses,
over the steadfast ice.

The hungry and thirsty,
shouters and whisperers,
the whistlers –
puckering up,
rubbing noses,
shaking hands,
in pain or joy.

The creators and fabricators,
killers and life-preservers,
the cruel-to-be-kind,
with all the pretty toys,
goodsandbads,
wishfully thinking
while the dreams run down.

The lonely-for-truth,
soul stealers, progress pledgers,
the five year, ten year, sometime,
maybe, never plans,
smelling of money-rot
and violent ordure.
The nowandthen roses.

The punctual grave.

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