unfolding, unravelling

specific creation song

there was a god without a name

who created

several things, such as

cinnamon,

amber

with its light-trapping flaws,

death,

the wheel,

delicate antennae

that stood out against the air

and touched the wind

as if it were a solid thing,

the metaphor.

in the cupping of his hands,

from the touch

of the edges of his palms

against each other,

he took sensation

and created a flower

whose many petals

lay smooth and long

against each other.

while he waited

for her to open,

a god that lived in fire

touched her

with blazing fingers, and

each of her long petals

became a ridge of fire.

consume yourself,

the fire god breathed,

as i have consumed myself,

and the hot wind

of his words

fanned the flame

he had set on her.

her creator set her down

on a lake like glass

and she floated, burning,

even when the fire went out

and left her petals ragged stubs--

she burned in memory

and floated far away

from the touch of anything.

she turned away

from the touch of her reflection.

she turned away

from the touch of her own name.

the flesh healed itself

while she turned away--

years and years she turned,

and unnoticed her edges sealed over.

she came to the edge of the lake

where other things grew...

they liked her--

her color, her shape,

the smell of ash that

cored the sweetness of her scent--

they asked her name.

she did not answer

until she looked into the water

like glass

and stared back at herself,

and then said

her name was peony.

and they gave her ground

and she found

herself laying

roots.

this story

does not end.