Nothing prepared us for this.
We could not plan for the outcome,
nor invent the riches, the lair of a dragon
wholly one with the earth.
Its mind had not been revealed.
No one had dug it out.
Only in the hidden depth, in the alien,
the birth of god was possible.
But what is god?
It is the wrought and won proportion,
but only as something undone,
something that destroys the one who makes it,
for the gaze of a god is impossible to bear.
What you have made, what you have found
is nor yours, it says; not anyone’s.
It is the dragon.
It is the earth, claiming back its gold.