poem #10 in the beginning

In the very beginning there weren’t words.
There was the swirl of constellations without names.
There was fire and ice and the elemental signatures of metals.
There was no one to notice or care.

Somewhere time comes into it, although no one can explain it.
When does time start? Is it back w/ the very beginning? Before the words?
Is it after the clash of gases?
When does what never was become what is?

And time passes, because now we have time.
We have a thread w/ the pearls of moments hung upon it
and we call that pastpresentfuture.
And there is still no one to notice or to care.

But later (as time goes, much later) the people
w/ their troublesome words and names come.
And that may be when it all begins, really. With people.
Troublesome words and names. And time.

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