For Writers Everywhere

I like the way you write,
tumbling lose-like
on the carpet screen,
tossed bones
in some ritual of foreseeing,
some conjuration,
a manipulation
of strings, theories and membranes

Sometimes
something
in the sound of your words
finds ancestry
in the small hollow second
before the birth of time.
Just before the
din and clash,
that startling upheaval of matter
the electric now
of the big bang,
just before that,
in the very instant before that,
did I hear a catch of breath,
hardly more than an aspirant lull,
a sibilant whisper in the rafters of being,
like angels praying.
It was hardly a sound at all.
More like the rush of air
when boilers catch
in the early dawn.
That sighing of soft fluming
as all the raging craze of life
ignited in the holy empty.

For Writers Everywhere

Chris1249

Joined May 2010

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