How do you create the world and rule it?
Standing on the heavenly floating bridge, they gazed
at the formlessness below, puzzled
about the procedure.
Eventually they started stirring, with the jeweled
spear, the fragrant moisture underneath the bridge.
A drop fell from the tip, an island rose, a palace,
various births, sea, wind, trees,
but fire seared his mother.
The father decapitated the infant and was allowed
to bring his wife back from hell, if he promised not to look.
He snapped one tooth of his comb, lit it for a torch.
Eight snakes were writhing in the rotting corpse.
She vowed revenge, scores of killings.
He even more births.
The idea of the two lives on
in the white rope between the rocks.