D.A. Donaldson


Light is first,
with its brilliant and blinding revelation of anything
other than nothing,
and unformed eyes that never beheld
so much as a candle
wait patiently in the wings of creation.


Waters split the firmament,
dividing heaven from earth
in a splashy feat of parting
here from… there.


The august land rises
from the waters,
a global coalition of mounds
seeded with grass, tree, herb, fruit –
obligatory sustenance
for things to come.


Sun, moon, stars
illuminate the macrocosm,
dividing day from night,
marking times and seasons
and your appointment next Tuesday.


Spring forth and fly, you creatures,
across the open expanse,
and swim the roiling depths,
and creep and crawl and slither
in nascent ambulation,
with scorn for the dreadful foreboding
of what lurks on the morrow,
when the pinnacle or ruination of life
is scheduled to emerge
from the clay.

D.A. Donaldson maintains a flash-fiction blog whilst laboring as a clerk in a public library.