“In the beginning was the word,” but no. First,
was the much he did not know: the darkness
where men grow. Then someone felt a strange
new need: to tell, and breathed the first
fateful sound into a shape of will.
When he had said this word that no one
heard (unless it was a black silk panther
passing by) perhaps he clapped
hands like a child, believing he had captured
something wild—cramming the power, the glory
and the flame into the narrow limits of a name.
That word, we use it sometimes casual as
a cough, or shout it out to fight the
silence off, was not the start—and will not
be the end. Much later, there will be
the power, and the glory and the flame
that broke out of the hollow shell of name.