once upon a time

there was no time
and every beautiful thing
in the world
was of one darkness
and in its boredom
or joy
of possibility
it decided
and in the decision
split itself
one from the other
to form lovers
of the first
and most important
kind
self and its opposite
twining together
a whirled is born
and never stops
whirling
dervish devotion
the only sense
to make
for being
one fractal part
of such
a beautiful
thing

something of yours

something of yours--
your red tile--
your white kitchen--
no--yes--your cake pan--
i have a pan--
round--steel? -- it has a
wheel--a lip that pouts
in--a clasp that
tethers the two sides
together--a simple
bottom that fits
inside the ring
when its clamped shut
a space for cakes
to be made
the kind you made
for me--i taste
through the
pictures i see
the icing
the little
caricatures--
carousel horses
and striped
paper awning
you made
me 4?
or was it 5
cakes? with
your two hands.
did i help
you crack
eggs in the
kitchen?
stir the
batter?
lick the
spoons?
there is
so much
i can't
remember
that i
know you
did with me
those earliest
years--my earliest--
your latest.
were you right
about god?