Gordy at Creation

The "I" I refuse is Gordy's at creation.

A word is said,

something figures,

the space inside the space.  An ant

crawls out—or is it an atom—with seas

on its back, and the air inside the seas

and the sounds inside the air.  Quantum

questions abound:

where is "I," what level,

what is fixed, what is final.

I sit and spin.

Gordy moves and spirals.

We trap more stillness inside us

than text on the page.

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