and It shall be

in the beginning
there was
no
beginning,

only something there
to remember It;

sublime in tongue,
descending graceful from
 the vaulted
      ceilings,

an impossible It,    
emerging pink & flesh
          from the slime,
 
chaos & oozing breath,

and for the rest of days,
     alive.

      perhaps It
is no more beautiful than we remember,
  no more miracle than we proclaim;

though try
 we still to search for
             our begotten
             legacy,

as if this metal
   in our blood     isn't enough;

as if this moon rock
   in our bones    isn't enough;

   our bellies, either
half full or half empty of
 this  gilded
     question.

But the universe
does not owe us anything

just how the stars are unapologetic
      in their shine,
     
      how the weeds are incessant
      in their growth;

whatever It may be,

all that is will end
     and someday
          rise again

maybe
there does not need to be
         a reason