CREATION

There was a place of birthing,
beyond creation's lip,
where angels knitted quietly,
the shape of what is me.

In smiling clicks and sombre clacks,
time's needles gathered yarn,
and chose the place of holding;
brought forth a pattern firm.

I waited on the edge of life,
until the shape was cast,
and called me forth to beingness;
the thread of love held fast.

And in the deep forgetting,
they wrote upon heart’s palm,
the truth of my remembering;
the Soul's eternal plan.