Begin creation from the start.

                         —Goethe, Faust
                        (Arndt translation)

Suppose you could have it,
tomorrow, or some other tomorrow
timeless in memory wake, the hard
unbending childish wish come true
embryo tiny, hard and bright
as the inner core of flame--
and suppose you were

surprised by the guard at the door
sealed windows, the room a tiny
Leyden jar-all telling you not to worry
you could move about next chapter
maybe tomorrow, maybe next week
or a thousand years.

Released by a kindly human hand
would you tumble into darkness
puissant and eager for blood, sex, pastrami
borne and borne again over swell, swoop
and whoop, tumbleweeds of sargasso
pummeled by shells, by sharks' teeth
lanced by jellyfish, in and out
of the whale's maw unchanged
unchanging-what could you
wish for then?

It would be a mistake to wish for rhododendron
high country deodar, tug of mulch at your heels--
not fatal but wrong to wish to touch warm skin.

At his death, Señor Quixana
changed to a blood red mouse
gnawed his way through an eyehole
only to find his boss, Miguel,
shackled to a letterpress
as though to a giant oar.