Waves Penned

Reckon there’s no true
First of anything,
Just little pieces
Coming together

Until, there you are,
Somewhere around there,
The whole thing, the first
Cell, human, symbol,

The first fish, first bird,
First writing system,
Past mere accounting
With pictograms,

A cylinder, a brick,
A burnt shoulder blade
Asking a question
Or making a boast,

All those waves that went
In sounds and gestures
Now evoked by lines
Like weirs penning them.