if it were all chrysanthemums
and no sting,
all landscapes
and no crumbling,
all minerals
and no sediment,
all revolution
and no debris.

It would be great
if reality were not reality,
it would be great
if life were not life.
It would be great
if there was an idea machine
that could sift truth
from lie.

To press a button
and get an answer
and never ever
have to wonder.

But for now we bathe
in freckled light.
Zap, spark, corona, thunder
and then the aftermath,
the morning as indistinct
as wet clay.

Tears watered
the beginning
and in the beginning
there were brilliant colors,
and in the beginning
there was all events
prior, and in the beginning
something amassed much
bigger than great.