Under the inky dome, stars wedded to it
My creation takes shape and form
I brought you forth and lived through you
And you became my crutch, night after day
Injecting you into my dreams to sleep with a smile
So shackled this imagination, so pallid its complexion
It aborts any sense of renewal, of vulnerable redemption and meaning
So, burn down what you worship
and worship the immolation, for this fire sustains life
And prepare to toil, to sow, to sculpt.
For the rivers carry a new song, and the sky deem us wondrous
Only if they shelter creations anew.
Dedicated to Emma Ruth Rundle.
