Whisper me an existence,

Center me in spherical isolation and don’t

Let them touch me.

 

Whatever rose from my water was blue and young

And hungry. Crawling on undyed soil you dumped

Here, they began to eat. I remember that you did not

Speak before you mirrored yourself into the first two.

You usually spoke about the gifts you gave me, but

I did not ask for these. They gazed at me, the first measurement.

 

They were silent, like you were when you gave them

Breath, and set them tall, and let them walk ahead of

The rest. They did not touch me until they had touched

Each other, until they were not the only two. Then hands

Took up spears and the hungry young blue ones were eaten

By children. Mouths gnashing at the flesh of the simple.

I forgave you, and them, and bloomed for their eyes,

Rippled my skin into seasons and told you they could

Remain, quietly. I morphed myself into a gift, made the

Present an era, crowned kings to rule, and let them build.

Spires, reaching spires, I suppose they missed their father,

You have not spoken since. Give them direction, I have given myself

Already.

 

Did you know what you gave me when you

Set them tall? The rest are dead, the children killed them. Or,

Perhaps they’re only children to me.

Tell them how, and I am sure they will stop. If not, it will be

Your silence over the smoke I leave behind. Fumes of

Divine indecision. Strike them down if you wish, but I

Will bury them in my own skin.

 

Let them touch me,

Center me in spherical isolation and

Whisper my essence.