On Being Born

From a cool patch
in the grass, I grabbed
the sky like a taut tarp
Overhead. Pulling, forcing
wrinkles in the dark,
I stuck a foot above
the horizon and
Shimmied to the heavens.

With my eyes over everything I knew,
And my hands bigger than ever before,
I served myself a plate of stars;
Perseus, Cassiopeia, Orion,
Letting the constellations SWell and swirl within me.

The inside of a body is a deep, dark place,
And it does not take kindly to light.
So from the center of night I threw up the stars,
Disseminating them across a spinning Earth.

And thus came the fires,
The wheels,
The words,
And everything leading to my birth.

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