under the colored lights through prisms, conceived while flutes and horns call down the canyon, the cells divide. while father stacked mythic thought totems, and mother ate her curds and whey, the birds and bugs called for a forest prince, or princess or a what, as incense coiled into the fragrant air, from roots immolated in fire. leaves make teas and balms; and thus the day is readied. all are there to see the birth from darkness, of man from earth and minds... the stars' prediction in our dream, this photon of a beam....... the old King, in an instant, dies; light abandoned before the lens... then, there, the world is changed forever, for the moment, in an instant..... or so it seems.....in the minute after... EPIC by Kenji Williams
