Volume 3 Number 4
God crouches on the floor of night,
hoary bearded, brown hair streaked with gray,
thick fingers flexing,
knees dimpling the soft dark dust.
Between His hands he spins a sliver
of gravity, pressing its point firmly
against the plane.
A wisp of smoke spirals up.
God presses harder, twirls faster.
His breath comes in quick pants.
He has been at this for a while.
He is getting a little tired now.
At last, a spark!
Springing up at the point,
a single bead of light becomes
a beacon in the silty dark.
God leans close and breathes upon it –
carefully, carefully! –
the breath of life.
The spark flickers, flares, fades …
will it go out?
… no, flares again,
a tiny fire gaining confidence
in its time.
God breathes again,
and the spark
Delicately, He tips the quickening coal
into a ready-made nest of tinder,
where it gleams and gleams
with a sweet hot light.
God smiles at the new-made star.
Then He takes a step to one side,
stretching His long long legs,
sets point to plane …
and begins again.