Earth's First Springtime

There was a day,
When our sun hoarded all its given strength into itself,
Refusing to release even a candle's worth of light,
Spinning electromagnetic energy into magnetism,
And magnetism into hardest order gravity,
Where even photons become dark things,
And a sun becomes a hole digging itself
Always deeper, always black,
A terrible hellish power, small enough to be poured into a coffee cup.

There was a day,
When all the sky of earth did hoard its rain,
When hydrogen and oxygen had not yet kissed,
Diffident clouds unto themselves,
When all our world was dry and unalive.

Love was the spark inside the sun, releasing it,
Uncoupling its descent into itself,
When, inside out at last, he became a light
Of brilliant positive-quantum force,
Brushing lightyears across a black canvas with hurried strokes,
Filling the frozen void with colored flame,

Love was the spark that let shy oxygen
Hold fast to something smaller than itself,
A single molecule of H2O,
The first drop of rain to fall from the clouds,
Touching infinitely wet on earth's hot crust,
Sizzling back as steam into the sky,
To call his brothers on.

Love was the sky pouring its rain onto the earth,
Love was the sun throwing its light onto the land,
Pouring themselves recklessly away,
Onto a hard and lifeless plane,
A place where, impossibly,
Rainbows color the sky,
And a planet becomes green with miracles.