In Your mercy,
You have moved
Mountains,
Babel towers,
Impenetrable hearts.

You merely breathe –
Will! –
And rocks run liquid,
Unmade. Undone.

You cup Your right hand
And sear Your palm
In the lava flow.

In the matter of my heart,
You rearrange
Particles
Until the liquid rock becomes
A temple of living flesh
That rejoices to see Your smile
In the morning sunrise,

A moving, contoured spire
Of Grace-breathed Joy.