Stories that begin with in the beginning always
have an ending. The mouth vomits the worm
while swallowing its tail.
We are not holy before we are unholy.
However, consider the world that begins
and begins with nowhere to go. Could there be
an outlet somewhere, a place
that holds the dead? Otherwise these
wild winged creatures we call spirit,
that oily film resting on the river, those
tapered rays of random light stay still,
unchanged and unholy.
Worried soul who thought her questions
opened up the void; she dreamt of home,
isn't that enough? Silly woman, see how
wind reverses its direction... endlessly.