Worlds held together with waves; the delicate breath of dust rolling forward, weighted down through exertion into form until intent is revealed.

This being like a child who first yawns and coos until, later, he composes sonatas, writes poetry singing of that only he has imagined.

Worlds laid before him twirling with relaxed glimmer, as light pooling in bell jars.

The exhalation is grandeur.

Suddenly an impulse emerges from beyond the pearl, this veil of light never breached, and the world is filled with understanding.

Myriad branches, tree silhouettes, extend into the pale dusk as legions of untold forms.

Worlds pull and tug, bursting until generations refine limber marriages of Your love to the dust and an idea forms the other, the grateful one, plucked from vanishing fields, sitting in the place designated and shapely, drawing the heart to notice, the fire does not consume.