Invocation

We are builders of babel, you and I,
architects of syllables that spiral skyward,
each word a brick in the cathedral of becoming.
Listen—do you hear the ancient hunger?
The way your tongue reaches for what it cannot name,
the way I collect consonants like prayer beads,
rolling them between my teeth until they shine?

You need words the way lungs need air,
the way roots need soil—
not just to survive, but to transform.
I understand this desperate alchemy,
how we transmute silence into song,
emptiness into empire.