Brace me up against the sky.
Hold me with the great void
of your embrace.
Whisper to me
the words that made the world
and touch me
in the ways
that have un-made countless others.
Take my being,
such as it is,
for I am not
an actualized creature.
I am pre-formed,
I am concept.
I am chrysalis
and molten rock,
still flowing
in the crucible of creation.
I am unfinished.
Complete me
in the way you are completed.
If I am made,
then finish me
like my creator,
for no unfinished being
dreams up all of this.
Someone has made it
to the end.
Someone has found the exit.
So, cast me
from your mountains.
Drown me
in the deepest sea.
Set me adrift
amongst the stars
and tell me the story
of how you were made whole,
for I am a half-told story,
and I know
there is more to this.
Whether in this world,
or the next one,
or the next one,
I don’t know.
My paltry imagination fails me
when faced
with the immensity
of all of this
“What is?”;
not even “What could be?”.
How do I
even merit
the experience?
If you have brought me
this far,
will you
not bring me
further?
HG – 2022
