The life of a poiema, a thing made, replicated eternally with routine letters

but ever charged with newness birthing, consisting first as somewhat guttural

in sound, each an audible whole in itself, joined in the curated recognition

of familial syllables, they – in the giving of themselves – become more, a word,

another whole. A trodden queue of syllables now march headlong through

the layered horizon, surprised to find the Spirit’s breath emerging in their midst,

sewing nouns and verbs en route to a wholeness not their own; dependent

on jots and tittles until the holy crescendo of becoming, a phrase. Created with

intent to be sure, this word endowed with the conscious awareness of

creaturehood – like us all – imitates its kin folk’s desire to be auto-nomos,

a law unto oneself, yet tinged with the angst of loneliness, begs for communion with

fellows, and in doing so, recognize each its own place, extends its given-ness

onwards to become what the craftsman did not foresee – a created creator.

Obviously unware of this lofty and terrible truth that a word once breathed

holds the breath until formed into a phrase with such life and depth as had not

previously existed under the very syllables joined in mutual admiration. Now

each word – initiated into becoming – will, with pious irreverence, take you,

her master, who fashioned her curves so lovely – to task. Not out of spite, mind you,

but of an inaudible cheeriness in being formed – the same that undergirds your very being,

dear reader. And you, like her, must be true to your created-ness again; to bear the fruits of

which may reveal a hypocrisy in the creator’s actions and intent as the telos of the

creation is now seen in the fruit; the lack apparent, the word must confront with arduous

fervor through exploitation or forgiveness. But the fruit speaks with a kindness native to empathy:

“you do not see as you speak and you do not do as you say”. With such pointed-ness

as if the creature was made for this very thing; the Creator hears as if almost for the

first time that we are known by our fruits and as much by our lack there-of, and if with loud

and sheer courage, we are true to our true selves, received first as given – this freshly re-worded

word returns the hospitality by leading us to repentance; turns back to us only to

restore us, to remember through us the gift and integrity of being the creation of another.