Song of Creation

Who made the world, my child? 
            Father made the rain 
            silver and forever. 
                        Mother’s hand 
drew riverbeds and hollowed seas, 
drew riverbeds and hollowed seas 
            to bring the rain home. 

Father bridled winds, my child, 
            to keep the world new. 
                        Mother clashed 
            fire free from stones 
and breathed it strong and dancing, 
and breathed it strong and dancing 
            the color of her hair. 

He armed the thunderclouds 
            rolled out of heaven; 
            Her fingers flickered 
                        hummingbirds 
weaving the delicate white snow, 
weaving the delicate white snow 
            a waterfall of flowers. 

And if you live long, my child, 
            you’ll see snow burst 
                        from thunderclouds 
            and lightning in the snow; 
listen to Mother and Father laughing, 
listen to Mother and Father laughing 
            behind the locked door.