Creation of the World

I can’t decide if I Write from some Great hole inside
If Christ spoke Mountain Ice all because His Life was flat and dry
I can’t decide if I Write from some Big hole inside
(If Christ spoke gulls in flight / Just to break His silent night?)
After ten million years
Loud and sweet the lark appears…
Or do I sing from some
Great abundance, bubbling high (If God burst at His seams
Lava pouring out in jets and streams?)…
Half of the time I speak
It’s to say that I’m in need
Half of the time I speak
It’s to sing that I’m in love, alive…