Not aware yet of what lies inside the nine,
of the fervour that borders on the divine,
Not aware that I made you from scratch,
and unknowing of all the ways that I detach.
Not aware that you are mine,
no matter how much you decline,
not aware that I can make-be,
all of the things you do not foresee.
And I know, oh, so much,
and youknow, oh, so little
so you run from my touch
because it seems brittle.
But just as I made the sun birth today,
I will make-do one that shall not betray.