in the beginning
you brooded, hovered
o'er ink-black abyss
wings weaving lullabies
safe-guarding, keeping
(with maternal jealousy)
until breath broke silence
and light was born
and I can't help but wonder
do you still brood
over my dark and formless
present?
and I wonder
what word will come?
(Painting by Mark Rothko, "Untitled 1968")
(Poem by Tim Reed, "Word in the Dark", (c) 2017)
