by Elizabeth Wickland

Waves crash, thrash, tumble and roar
‘till a voice in the tumult says, “Let there be more.”
More peace, more silence, more goodness, more light,
more joy in the day, more rest in the night,
more hope for tomorrow, more healing the past,
more of the beauty, the kind that will last.
“More!” beat the wings, “More!” swirls the wind.
“Let there be life!” and Life stirred within.
In darkness, the light, the infinite bound;
the Word in the silence, who uttered no sound;
the More become less, that all become more;
the Key in the lock, both the Key and the Door.
Let there be more, let there be new,
let there be life where the tree of death grew.
Let there be water, turned wine like the sea,
a sure foundation for the roots of the tree.
In the fullness of time all is made fresh:
the feast and the tree and the garden and flesh.