She's standing at the counter, fairly serious,
Lips pursed, filling in a form -
A minion of the quotidian,
A functionary of the realms of order,
The output of the input of the timeclock.
She is pregnant.
In a world without clocks
Something which is not yet someone
Five centimeters -
Mozart the Fish, evolution's astronaut,
Infinite in the confines of Mother Earth,
Alive within the oceans of her pulse.
Later, it will be simplified:
Name, rank and serial number.
It will be dumbed down, constrained
To pay taxes, build cruise missiles, kill cockroaches
And bow down to God.
It will be colonized by the minor technicalities
Of speech, fashion sense, resumes and toilet training.
But that comes later.
For the moment, it is suzerain,
An empire of metabolizing iron,
Replicating Parthenons, building
Constellations of significance.
Five centimeters of infinity,
Building from the debris of the stars
Its seven days.