What if
instead of inflation
we arrived in flux
and the background radiation
overheard by Penzias and Wilson
was not some echo
of a beginning
but the remnants of music
played
And played again

What if
I had arrived
in the middle of that storm
A fire
in the pants
of desperate beauty

What if
I were the heavy jackfruit
bent with the weight of gravity
toward that secret center

What if
instead of milk skin and green
I could bathe in an iridescent orange
back-lit with coffee and
follow the delicate fur trail to its source

Would clouds rain down nails from the heavens?
Would wounded one-eyed children heal?
Would gashes and their scars
Give up less blood, less flesh?

I am
Who brings Jupiter
not a large planet
but a small star
into orbit and revolution

I am
The tear shaped teal
crying from the eyes of Kali
The child eaten
and born anew
and I will
and will not
be comforted
by six arms and a triple goddess
Ménage à trois

If I die
with regret
it will be that matter and anti-matter
through some quirk or miscalculation
developed an asymmetry
at t = 10^-43 seconds
and not all of reality
was vaporized
when each particle
and anti-particle
collided

This primal asymmetry
sets me reeling
and I'm afraid
I will always miss the point
and so it goes
for all eternity

At least until
the next singularity
comes along

James F. Yockey lives and works in Madison, Wisconsin. After graduate degrees in religious studies and anthropology he made the logical leap into business where he now runs his own energy brokerage and consulting firm. He has previously published essays in Whole Earth Review and Creation magazine and is the author of Meditations with Nicholas of Cusa. To contact him, email yockey@itis.com.