The womb rose and said,
You are the window.
The world's rose went
From petal to flesh, from
Flesh to shiny metal.
The metal grabbed the sun
Which turned itself to flesh
And fell to the ground where it stayed
Wet for three eons until
The flesh saw a spark and stood up.
It had it's first thought: I am hiding
something.
A piece of something bright.
It ran amok for years, then, at last,
pressed
It's face's flesh to glass
And said, yes, I am the window.
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