This is the voice of power,
the flesh of the eternal word.

Greet me in a-chord-dance with your song.

Lend me your quicksilver tongue,
That I may know when to yield
To the eternal music
Playing in the cosmic halls,
And rest,

And when to strike forth from my lips
As a flaming crotchet,
Searing into reality
The word conceived
In the irrepressibly creative mind of God.

For as my flesh is a word
Once spoken by the Almighty
And heard in the earth,

So too may my words
Take root
And enter the world made real.

Teach me, then, to hear the greater music:
The melody in the river,
The hymn within the tree,
The drone within the stone,
The hum within the bee.

For all creation is speaking.

Every living thing
Is a word still being uttered,
A note sustained
Within the endless song of the spheres.

And when my voice is called,
Let me speak in a-chord-dance
With the choir of creation,

Until word becomes flesh,
Flesh becomes word,
And the threshold of what is breaks open;

And from the mouth of the Eternal,
A word never spoken takes form;
And a universe is born.