The Word

In the beginning
the word knocked and stumbled
shook like a wet dog
shivered in the damp and dark
'til the moon made the grass burn
feeble and green.

So the word found a deep hole
slithered down into soft earth
and slept.

Then in time
the word darted from tips of tongues
bounced off stones to sting
swiftly struck hearts to soothe
'til the sun made the sky burn
cherry and red.

So the word cloaked itself in a symbol
slipped between dry pages
and dreamed.

In the now
the word is riding waves
clinging to the fundament
screaming in the quantum
while distant stars tickle and burn
cold and white.

So the word spins out like a web
curves out beyond the between
and howls.

In some distant when
the word will drift down
leaf flutter softly, spiral to fall
perch poised on sand and loam
'til the flashing crack of lightning burns
hazy and blue.

So the word will puff and swell in rain
anchor itself to the real with roots
raise reaching arms to embrace sweet air
and be.