When The Great Archer stood upon the uppermost crag of scrambled complexity
He stood not alone.
Nearest the elbow holding the bow — the Begotten One to send ahead.
On opposite flank — the Promising Wind to guide the arrow into the void.
Notching the visionary arrow, groaning to draw back the bow, aiming for freedom,
piercing love flew like an imperial bird
trailing a golden path of mercy for straying worlds
within the worlds
Hardened chaos fell like feathers to its knees.
Darkness gave way to light.
Seas crept grateful off the land and settled into deep.
Barrenness collapsed to incandescent life.
Birds song called for flowering growth.
When we first opened our eyes, we struggled to name the sight.
We struggled to name ourselves.
At just the right moment, the whisk of the arrow, returning to The Great Archer’s hand,
Opened our eyes to what had been, to what was, to what would soon become:
Beautiful us in The Great Archer’s Beautiful arms.
And all the stars cried holy, holy, holy on our behalf.