From a Big Bang

Apr 07 2020

To the Cat God:

Perhaps, too many verses don’t remain
where they are cast, spelled, “Labor; Die; Renew.”
So, sing the chorus inverse; undo pain:
“…Aright, anew, unwritten twice, for you.”

She I Could Not Attain, nor to atone,
kept in an alabaster urn, (or flask,)
I do not think I know your flesh from bone,
nor imitation from your truest mask.

The winter’s almost over: plant a seed.
Spend trillions, if there’s magic in the bean,
and, if it doesn’t sprout, there’s no great need
to mourn it, in the time we have between.

It dies: no one recalls the point we popped;
It lives: no one recalls the point we stopped.

Love,
A Big Bang

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