Origin

It is not just a sun.
It is a seed.
A core of fire
cradled in her hands
before the world exists.

She does not observe it,
she listens to it.
Because light also beats,
and this heartbeat has not yet spoken its first name.

Everything is on pause:
flight, color, destiny.
But it already is.
It already burns.

As things burn
that are about to begin.
Her hair is the universe,
her chest, a cradle.

And the butterflies know it:
creation begins
when a woman embraces the light.