Creation (a poem)


A river is born

As the ball rolls,

Moisture captured

In upper strata,

Bleeding to layers below.

Impressions made;

Streams carved;

The universe is marked

By passing thought.

From irrigated channels,

Ideas unsaid find root.

Worlds are created.

Worlds are changed.

And life takes new meaning,

If only for a moment,

Until the ball rolls again

In fields yet untilled.

The episode that never existed

The episode that never existed