Having a vision of things, and wanting it so badly to become true, I could set forth on a journey to see only the things I want to see and shape, therefore, the world I live in, in that way. Or I could, with my bare hands, scrape and pry until I have fixed each rock at its exact place to order the lines that run through them until I am satisfied.
(To scrape with my own hands—what a thought.)
Can I, create the world in complete alignment?
And I imagined what it would look like: my hands, worn white, pushing the last tract of dirt into place. A shift in the sunlight, the glare moves sideways from my eyes, and I can see.