It Sean Lause
Pull it from a silence, urge it to a witness, hear it to a testament, confess it to heaven or hell. Seed it to the earth, tremble it into flower, swell it to a ripeness, pregnant with possibility. Carve it to a clarity, sand it smooth as stone, rub it in longing to endure the night, a shape to speak the spirit free. Flame it to a white heat, hammer it with thunder, weld it sure with lightning, baptize it with storm. Bold it to a sunburst, polish it to a moon, unfold it like a universe, web it round with stars. Then it will be good to eat, drink, house, heal, ride, soar, sail, explore for a million’s million years---or more.
Volume XVIII
119