air came early, it wasn’t created.
lungs grew, in search of oxygen.
in some tropical land, upon some
island, loquats abounded,
chameleons mastered colors, a
woman appeared, strangeness
and fillers, and wisdom.
trees were named. pointing
was first, sign language, in desire
of sophistication.
humans learned about sex—
how to come together, how to
climb, penetrate, a baby was
strewn—something was
growing in her, she kept pointing,
she would name her, Miracle.
eons into futures, words were
sounded out. words came before
syllables, words came before
numbers, and counting was by
necessity: fishing, tool making,
fire was worshipped.
with humans, worship is
necessary—someone is
responsible, nature is hidden,
present, lacking a name.
names are mandatory. society
functions by names, misnomers,
letters, and spelling.
names erect a society, new
names decode souls, encrypt
spirits, with a name, an empire
is created.
