Concerning the beginning

Every beginning is a destruction.
Every perspective on far away mountains, valleys
kills it, records it in attractive yet
clumsy positions.

Nowhere, that is nice, nowhere imposes itself as 
the inevitable alternative.

Solely is, but quickly forgotten,
away with the envelop still unopened, the wrapping paper intact,
the child before it learns what is laid out for him,

the look, the sad look, the unspeakable
happiness that bursts off from the beginning
like flakes of marble from  a statue,
masterpiece or not.