Not yet in time—in the still moment
before moments,
before heartbeats, before melody,
even before any such
face as you may
have later read about
dared to break the stillness and move
upon the surface
of silent slumbering waters;
enter—
the very first light of creation—
curiously
mottled, not pure
white, in fact
still fairly heather
and slightly green with pale cold
from that timeless winter's night before,
but nevertheless
blushing with just enough
promise of the proximate season
that its faint kiss,
imbued as it is
with just the right kind
of slight warmth
so as to gently begin motivating each wave
to awaken;
in turn causes—
our face
to first crane, and then
to bend its very
good
fitting v-neck in benediction.
