the creation of the question
It grew slowlyAtom by atom
Curving its serpentine line
Around a doubt
The sickle that mows down everything
Like a lily
It roused itself to life
Unfurling into reason’s limbo quietly
And it left in its wake
A single teardrop
A tiny pin-prick of dew
A dab of salt
That minute mirror
Begetting wonder
by Maurya Simon
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