He tells me to sing,
But I do not sing.
He commands me to sing.
Sing of what?
Of creation.
Do not ponder. Do not plan.
Open up.
Sing.
He, the angel, the messenger,
Bears no message but
Sing.
Not what, not how, just
Sing.
I make my own message, messenger?
Yes.
If I never have before,
I can through your command.
I command because you can and don't.
I command so that you will and must.
But I've been listening to you.
I won't sound like myself.
Try.
A song to the angel, then,
To the spirit of change
The spirit I fly from
But never outrun.
The song of where my song began--
From my breath and his command.
Once from formless waste
The master of us both
Sung everything.
He, who works worlds,
Wrought me to sing words,
Made the angel of change,
And we, and we alone
Stand together in this barn.
We listen to this hymn, surprised.
Every word, as it hits the air, cries.