I am the one that holds the memory of
what it was to be nothing, and yet I sprout
from it. I am Jupiter – six places away
from the sun – cold, vast, shiftless.
Wayward comets crash into me and I barely
notice. I feel so far from nought &
nothing; their round shiny faces, seem so
far away. Yet, I am always in that
state of sprouting, always in that
memory of birth.
My little, humble birth …
… when the moon lay
a clear-cut path across the waves,
when stepping down into the shell,
sudden-pulled by loop-hugging dolphins,
when stepping into the shallows of the sea.