My One Voice

At the sound of my voice

I spoke and, egged on

By the discrepancy, wrote

The rest out as poetry.

Read the books, duets

From nowhere say they speak;

Why not let them. Inhabited stares

Leave trees in rearview mirrors.

I came from a neutral point

In space, far from the inside

Of any one head. O say can I

Still see the tabula rasa outshining

That rosy dawn on the near side

Of the genetic code. Doubt,

Thy name is certainty. Generations

Of recordings of the sunrise

Picture the light until the page

Is white and I predict

The present, hearing a future

In the syllables’ erasing day.