No Mud

The world inchoate, hands of God with
fingers splayed, eye keen on the rubble
in the cold winds of deleterious space,
gaze splintered infinitesimally, yet undivided;

flickering sunlight, puddling in the absent atmosphere
violet undercurrent, rippling over troughs
the deep set ridges of incomprehensible time;

is there no mud for disbelieving blind men?
gravity never releases doubters.

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