gods in genesis
finding inherent chaos in every order:
collage, lyric and colligraph,
each existential scramble of gametes,
the origins of origami folds,
the maiden flurry of brushstrokes.
These makers of galaxies—
like Hindu arms of tessellation,
an organizational risk of dustpans and brooms,
eternal motes caught up in discus whirl,
dancing in the pale shaft of Sagan’s
blue dot and the reverie
of remembered stars.
How they master the elegant curl
of λ on the tongue,
the magnificent burst
of capillaries behind the first flash,
their alphabet scribbled across our breath,
holding true the rolling trill
of laughter and teeth.