That squawk
in the pheasant’s
throat

was

aeons ago
when He thought matter
in space

(space
in matter
which?)

and whispered
to each atom His plan
a request

to join in dance

alone—together
with multitudes—apart
and part

forming
singular configurations—
a snowflake

repetition
without repetition
never to

be repeated
yet repeated—
kaleidoscopes

crowning
choruses with
consciousness

in that second—
eternity