Gather up memories
of when the earth was freshly
born, when lakes covered deserts

and deserts carried grains
of sand into volcanic seas
and trees sang to each

other, contralto, a rushing wind
through leaves and grasses,
and time split open like a fallen egg.

Gather cloud-washed dragonflies
and hurricane lamps
swarmed with lightening bugs

winking, winking
while a lighthouse steeples
over subterranean mountains.

Gather seeds to scatter
in a barren meadow filled with the scent
of future wildflowers. Gather orchestral

music and emptiness;
spy the luthier’s hand
forging vessels and bowstrings.

Gather me and you,
should you choose to love me.
Gather our children

and our children’s children.
Gather time, the broken yolk, and soak
it with grasses and golden deserts.