You have no means, companion of the desolate,
To annex the deluge below, and bring it all forth
No weapon to compel it, no tool to draw it
You come, as I do, with nothing.

With nothing, but the urgency of the cut throat,
Chomping at the bit and raging after possibility
Might we ever take it all, hold it as our due,
Depart, as if it was always going to be.

If we say as much, command as much, speak as much,
Shall it not be so. Shall all of creation not conspire
As we tune into all that primordial intention,
To give us what we long for, pray and hope for.