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




HG – 2022

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