The creation of heaven
was not the first creation
that rose out of dark waters;
a giant whale and a kraken,
bent on each other's murder,
were first. They began under
the odd light before the sun
came into being, when Day
was still defined as Not Night.
Deep in the water, they met:
born to hunger, born to slay
what they might meet, born to fight
then to devour all in sight,
born to be the other's meat.
On the water's surface, white
glowing plankton foretold what
would soon be named the stars.
Their glow gathered from the Bright
that would be called Day then carved
Darkness without leaving scars.
The world was in their soft net.
Beneath them, the kraken backed
toward the mountain of fish.
Slow rotating eyes began
to catch sight of those huge black
fins, the pulse and easy push
that sent the heavy cold flesh
dancing like a galleon.
Soon entangled. Soon to rise.
Mouth to mouth and eye to eye.
Sharp teeth, sharp beak. Crimson streams
tingeing the waters. Moans. Sighs.
The only hope is to fly
to what can hold on to light.
Plankton then becomes their aim.
They break through and take on shine,
covered with gleam that divides
the waters. Whale, tentacle-
wrapped, pocked and gone pale as sin,
still killing yet nearly killed.
Kraken worn as manacles.
No stars born to act as guides.
Out of water, the battlers
were torn and split like sorry
sails old longboats once displayed.
At last, more killed than killers;
their bones from their flesh were splayed.
From them was our Heaven made.
It was made of misery.