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.