In the beginning was,
Well, the start. In the start
Was the word. Or the light,
Lux, fiated. Fated? Was
The universe fated to be
And/or not to be? In the
First place was no place,
Less than a speck, a tiny
Spec-piece of this period. No,
Really. Out of that
Micro-dot came All.
In that beginning was a Boom-
Bang-Big-Thang. In
The beginning was the end,
A reeling in, an eternal return,
An 8 lying on its side.
In a human baby’s beginning
Is a grammar, a formal loam
Already ready for sounds,
Signs, words, phrases, phases
Of versation. Hear the toddler
Form past present future,
Possess the prepositions,
Put syntax in the right position.
All right, light, let it be, let it
Go on, shine forth. In the Begin,
Let's lean in, watch our words,
Listen here, hear, listen:
We're caught in brute matter
And magic, always beginning.
hans ostrom 2024
("Kind of Blue," Miles Davis album, 1959)
kind of blue, sweetly
sad, tart despair.
kind of blue, like
you, when you don't
know what to do or
how to stop or slow
the world's deluge
of evil but must step
around deep inert
blue to finish chores,
open doors, lend a
hand. kind of blue--
like a lonely, thoughtful
trumpet blown
by a man deep
inside the music--
a spirit inside
an ear-shaped cave.
hans ostrom 2024
