Creation

I should like to have been present at the creation of the world,
When the sky was black and the Earth composed of cool, dark dirt,
   the air a quiet brush on my cheek, 
   but still seeing nothing,
No grass beneath my shoes, but cool, dark dirt beneath my shoes.
Perhaps there were a thousand thousands of feet upon the unborn Earth,
   none speaking, breath held in lungs,
   anticipation for the Word.


Autumn 1997