Genome, a pantoum I wrote to describe my feelings towards discovering I was a poet

I wish I had language then
the way I have language now –
slanted, shuffled together
and seamed, like bulging sacks of rocks

The way I have language now –
I have a crusted gem forming inside dirt
and seamed, like bulging sacks of rocks
that split at the first tectonic plate shifting

I have a crusted gem forming inside dirt
and dust activated by a few billion years
that split at the first tectonic plate shifting
like an engine spinning upon itself

And dust activated by a few billion years
converting grain into bread and bread into Hamlet
like an engine spinning upon itself,
rocking like the positions of creation, that cataclysmic maneuver

Converting grain into bread and bread into Hamlet,
requiring a skill that turns on expiration dates,
rocking like the positions of creation, that cataclysmic maneuver,
resting on the bed of its own certainty to mold.

Requiring a skill that turns on expiration dates,
slanted, shuffled together,
resting on the bed of its own certainty to mold.
I wish I had language then.