I call the pebbles
broken by ice,
smoothed by water and time.
I call them
from the beds of dying streams,
from the unsuspecting gardens.
I call the gems
from the necks of fair ladies
and the crowns of kings.
I call them polished
and faceted.
I call the cursed and the blessed,
the rich things stolen from the earth.
I call the once-living,
the tiny carapaces
and bones of man-height.
Arise and stand forth, unblinking
in the sun of another day.
Remember the taste of living flesh.
I call boulders
spat out by glaciers,
cast down from the heights
to languish.
And I call the cooled lava,
the pulse forgotten
in the flow of stone.
Nor have I forgotten
the mountain ranges and great rifts
that break the land,
swallowing the veins of rivers
and giving rise to other streams.
All these I encompass
in my calling. All these I summon
to rise up and bring fire,
to dance creation on the fragile
and the unmindful.
These are the old gods,
shaking existence beneath my feet.