Poetry · Writing

Creation

The beginning is an unopened map.

A calm pond without a neighbor.

A sprout in a lumonent spring garden.

The sun peaking over molded canyons.

 I am not your father. We

own this together, together

our duty

is to mark this map.

Lay in the garden tending to the tulips.

Swim in the pond and climb those canyons-

as one.

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