What happened in the blackness, 
when everything was invisible,
inaudible, intangible,
about to burst from
zero
into a
universe

that now – as i configure
the meaning behind 
these inadequate words –
expresses in endless 
elegant forms
the wonder of being.

We are, perhaps,
all God incarnate 
in our [unique] ways.

And perhaps we
all, through our days,
have songs to sing,
however humble,
that add a thread to
this resplendent tapestry.

And we interweave with
then and now, 
each and every 
other, to create 
the music of being.

A music that sings the 
glorious joy of just
this, 
of these letters,
of this quartet,
of the song of our life

of the expression of nothing
becoming something.

This is the true expression of hope:
knowing that i may create the world,
that it may be beautiful
and that my delicate breath may add
a perfect phrase to

the infinite music of being