;

“The Book of Genesis”

 By Kei Millar

suppose there was
a book
of only
one word,
let

from whose
clipped sound
all things
begin:
fir and firmament,
feather,
the first whale —

and suppose

we could scroll
through
its pages
every day
to find
and pronounce
a
Let
meant only
for us

we would
stumble
through
the streets
with open books
eyes crossed
from too much
reading:

we would
speak in
auto-rhyme,
the world
would echo itself

and sill
w’ed continue
in rounds
saying
let
and
let
and
let

until
even silent
dreams
had been
allowed.