by Nick Gisburne
The flawless, white, illuminated stone,
The energy in all us, our star,
Was twisted from the firmament and thrown
By Mother Spirit, rising from the tar.
It settled in the shadow smoke of space.
Behind it, trails of ashes in the black.
With these, she painted patterns on her face,
To warn her scheming sisters, “Turn. Go back.”
A demon, Darkness, hungry for the light,
The Mother fought and wrestled to its death.
The skull survives, the moon we see at night,
Its teeth the mountains, frozen by her breath.
And we, the children swarming at her feet,
Are proof her plan, Creation, is complete.
