Hovering
by Steve Baliko

Teased with sounding
out the depth of void,
Troubled with the above
and below of formlessness,
Touched with the color
of God’s initial word...
Soft reverberations
in a blind and barren womb
without walls, windows,
doors, floor, roof.
A voice to warm, to light
fill, shape, make
everything.
Can words do so very much?
More and much less -- so yes.
How does genesis sound?
Violent and silent...
And I must strain to hear
hovering -- a hoary echo
that time and stillness teach
in the midst of beginnings
penetrating the clutter
of our own void,
our recreation,
our noise.