The First Word

The mind can invent a morning
before the morning comes,
using its pale geometry of thought
to arrange itself into light.

In that half-made hour
a man may lift his pen
as though saluting
an unnamed god.

A single stroke of ink dissolves
into words that follow,
each escaping the moment 
of its making.

The page becomes a landscape
in which the idea of a step
outpaces the step itself.

And the first word,
bright, astonished,
stands like a traveler
who has discovered
his own footprints.