by Martin Williams
I was fed there
in your darkness,
sung to by your blood's
rhythmic, endless rush,
a faint, tidal roar
with every draw of breath;
no moon, no stars,
no other living thing but me. In thoughtless
eternity I floated, so pure
that nothing dared
touch me. Subtle
impurities flowed from your veins to mine,
the bread and wine
of a long
perhaps unending
sacrifice. If I dreamed
I dreamed only the images
you gave me, deep
within a washing sea
eyeless, seeing forms
without form, all that was
as I was, all
that is.
How painful it must have been for you,
how close to death
when first told of my existence
held aloft in the hand of a cold giant
fingers wedged
into my screaming
screaming mouth.
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