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.