At or before the beginning there was something tall something
small and the tiny space between them called everything – the
possible, the almost, the maybe because…
At least the beginning was a point of reckoning, of gaining ones
bearings, but now has shifted away from everything, and this is
how – the fact of this, that we came to decide we were alone –
And since, by this I mean the beginning, we have donned sailors
garb and screeched into every kind of night, stripping mountains
of their iron, zeroing like magnets towards home.
All origin stories have at their root a tale about nothing – some
myths about the empty, of a stillness that so rattled nothing, that
nothing’s only recourse was to exercise its only option and move.
Apt as actors and motivated like sinew, but still only apes, we fell
from certain trees onto savannas and moved clumsily from their
stillness – away from the calm, into the whatever…
And have since conquered what?