thaumaturgy

2009-08-16 | 2:14 a.m.

He slipped his hand
through cracks in the sand;
and the sand slipped
through cracks in his hand.
The Earth! She trembled.
I move, he thought.
She moves, he said.
And the trees wept,
arms antrorse,
supplicant for life.
Life granted.
Sentience!
They bled, sap congealed.
The sparrows drowned,
in that rush of life,
broken in the boiling surge.
His fingers dripped sand.
His fingers dripped blood.
He spoke:

"A miracle."

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