Seed

Wisdom crying in the streets! who is nonamed but lives in the heart of naming itself, whom no mind can interpret except your own; lord of worlds destroyed and worlds to come, who fastens flesh to our bones, dresses our souls in skin and gives us the wild solitude through which we may return to you: wash and wring the world, sow these our seeds, let them open like eyelids and climb through the cracks of the earth we’ve seared with selfish industry.