was not the first creation

that rose out of dark waters;

a giant whale and a kraken,

bent on each other's murder,

were first. They began under

the odd light before the sun

came into being, when Day

was still defined as Not Night.

Deep in the water, they met:

born to hunger, born to slay

what they might meet, born to fight

then to devour all in sight,

born to be the other's meat.

On the water's surface, white

glowing plankton foretold what

would soon be named the stars.

Their glow gathered from the Bright

that would be called Day then carved

Darkness without leaving scars.

The world was in their soft net.

Beneath them, the kraken backed

toward the mountain of fish.

Slow rotating eyes began

to catch sight of those huge black

fins, the pulse and easy push

that sent the heavy cold flesh

dancing like a galleon.

Soon entangled. Soon to rise.

Mouth to mouth and eye to eye.

Sharp teeth, sharp beak. Crimson streams

tingeing the waters. Moans. Sighs.

The only hope is to fly

to what can hold on to light.

Plankton then becomes their aim.

They break through and take on shine,

covered with gleam that divides

the waters. Whale, tentacle-

wrapped, pocked and gone pale as sin,

still killing yet nearly killed.

Kraken worn as manacles.

No stars born to act as guides.

Out of water, the battlers

were torn and split like sorry

sails old longboats once displayed.

At last, more killed than killers;

their bones from their flesh were splayed.

From them was our Heaven made.

It was made of misery.