Listen to poem:
On the Threshold of One, Once and At
Once, upon a word,
one thought stirred within silence
on a quiet dawn—
sleeping inception woke up
once was becoming something.
One morning, somewhere,
at the edge of what might be,
at just one past one—
two's a penny, a coin toss—
now suddenly one's a word.
On this very day,
at this very one moment,
lies what's now and then,
see-sawing with pending things—
How else should a story start?
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