Up {a #Poem}
“In the beginning”begs the existence of a
dot, the endpoint of
a line referencing time and
movement, like an ant on
the Golden Gate Bridge.
If there is time (now)
and movement (how?)
why do we shun this
guess the size of a
galaxy, turn from the
possibility of a God
placing us just so?
I may travel by antenna,
feel my way blind on small
steel and close pavement,
stopping for crumbs.
But just because I cannot
see it does not mean
there is no sky.
