Predicament Of A Well-digger

There is a gap sometimes so large,
a new meaning fills like loose sand
flowing in the pit the well-digger labours.
Even god cannot command that –
communication of total meaning.
When he asks for light there is darkness,
morning and evening to a day.

Gather the tamarind seeds from the heap,
cup them into bowls sorting by shape, size
as fingers get coarse with sepia dust,   
sand where seeds lay furrowed with zeal.
Vault becomes the line I draw on the canvas –
the horizon for dimensions and spheres,
everything follows, every single detail.

( Inspired by Genesis 1 )

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