allahu.cipher

She lies before me, featureless and fresh
As the savannah on the first dawn.
My white salt, her blood-red iron
Meet there on the restless landscape.
She is my blessing, and I am her glory,
I rejoice, or rather whisper to myself.
This before me is the one true object,
The actual event, and I am her witness.
At that her strata quake with discontent:
I am no captive vision, she rumbles back
I grow trees that fall in the forest
Though no ear abides to hear them;
I nurture morning blooms whose brilliance
No eye awakens early enough to behold.
I am no mere medium, she says, her voice
Shaking my foundations — I am the meaning.