In the beginning the first woman, mildly terrified,
     clutched her belly as it bulged, shifted, made room,
     while underneath her crust of skin organs, muscles,
     ribs scrape together like tectonic plates,
     until at last, erupting out of human darkness—
     this creature of light.

     No, that’s not quite right—

     In the beginning was a big bang and frenzied race          
     and rapid multiplication of heavenly bodies, like zygotes,
     organized by cosmic chromosomes for every galactic mass—
     an explosion of heaven and earth.

     No—try again.

     In the beginning was the word
     and there was space there, and the powers of heaven came
     down and planted within her the seed—
     the word made flesh.

     And words, like seeds, have roots
     that plunge themselves deep in the darkness, the chaos—           
     Let there be light.
     Watch carefully as seeds—miracle of creation!—defy entropy.
     They organize, sprout, and strain upward as leaves, blossoms, fruit
     and more seeds—everlasting life
     to prove that earth is not a tomb, but a womb also.

     It is enough. You are here now.
     And without beginning, you can have no end.

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