Emergence

Plates shift, faults crack; the riff-raff hide under the overpass and pray to gods by the names they know.   Someone laughs.  Worlds collide.  Stars shine and cease and it's aeons before anyone even notices.  A whimper escapes the lips of the birthing and the dying and the angels can no longer differentiate.  And I am in a waiting tank.  Stifle, pause- for wings to dry.  In the in-between I pray not to be swallowed whole.  Pray for just long enough to make a difference.  Or a wave.  A flutter.  Billions pass hands and the burying begins.  But you can't resurrect the past- no, not like that.  No foundation, just rubble and rumble and tumbling down stairs you thought rose all the way to Heaven.  So I unfurl and start my ascent- too distracted by a nectar scent to really make head-way. With nothing left to do, I pray.