Inside the zygote
something’s simmering.
It’s boiling up and boiling over
until suddenly a second one
splits off. Now there’s a calm
accumulation until one of those two
gets its own upbubbling baby-making urge
and percolates itself into a rift. So that makes three
pursuing their apparently peace-loving
self-abutting industries... And all night long
the dreamer’s implicated, doubled over, doubled up
as mixer/muller of the parts#8212;hormonal cauldron where a lot
of mental matter too is stirred. Eventually a being will conceive
(in stalls of staves, in calques of cramp, in knuckleheads and thrall—
god help us all) the stems of words.