Origin of a Thought

Here, it has happened.
A texture has fallen upon the world 
invisibly.

I never feel it appear, but it does,
like the first speck of life in the ocean 
born of a million riptides.

Down and down I go 
into caverns of self, 
and get stranded;

I have combed impossible fields— 
watched thoughts coast by
and tried following their trails

like breadcrumbs back
to the center of the universe. 
I have found no beginnings.

What desks did they write on 
back then, before time was born?
As hard as I try, I can’t imagine

nothing. That’s all there was. Wasn’t.
All that colorless absence. 
Completely still.

But then— 
something appeared
as the first moment started to happen.