language —
transparent,
like dew, iris, cells,
when things were yet to be named, at the beginning
in the cradle of nothingness,
where darkness came first, before light,
before fire and earth,
Oceans, the favourite child, and the sky,
with her celestial, feathery friends, lazing on that hazy chasm;
from the horizon,
emerged forms and words
and poetry

I be
only capable
of seeing

that which
I put in my eye to look at

I create
as I look
and
I see what
I created