The thing is,                    

I may know how she felt

that one, first woman

who lay down upon vast nothing with a sigh

exhaling her desires

into a collapse of creation

for her service to some ideal

which I also know

of her long smitten strands separated into all given life spread along, smeared over contours of her now-solid form

sun and moon appearing in opposite skies, her eyeballs

blushed tongue broken apart into atmosphere

(the basis of which is gravity)

hard-working belly slack with giving, with giving fluids for rivers, pools, and moist undersides of inanimate objects

(all waited, of course, for Life)

(and for continuance)

heart undying which placed and spread passion

and lo and behold, there were meadows!

I know how

she felt while strained while procreating worlds within worlds while her greatest works became named and integral and whole

And most of all, I know

of her need to rest awhile

. . . the effort, oh the effort!!

exactly as some personage stepped on her and when

she lifted her being to stand erect once more 

to prove she was not knocked down nor did she did come apart nor could she ever spill essentials

she would go on as before

I know how she felt then.