before the line could ever run before the square was planned a single dot of hidden fire lay sleeping in the sand a seed without a root a star too far to see a punctuation of life's punctuation "to be" occupying no space at all making no outward sound holding the weight of the universe before shapes were found the page is blank until a dot touches down one millisecond before an idea is born a point a punctuation of mortal life a punctuation "to be" below a silent shield against the coming strife a secrets point reveals before the tongue can form a heaven or a hell upon the parchment fate where willed ink is but blood of thought unspilled a pair of dots a cosmic paradox the definition of anticipation to break the silent genesis turns a symbol of death into a symbol of birth behind a frozen period no life can breathe at all it locks the ink in iron chains shuts the open door and leaves one pacing back and forth across the barren floor the entry the exit the a mountain peak to the trench beneath the sea the ultimate contraction of the phrase "I want to be" one looks upon a period one thinks the story's done but it's the shadow side of a revolving sun

