it goes something like this:

(god the maker. jesus the carpenter. holy spirit the healer.)

god wills your atoms into existence,
the crashing echoes of collapsing stars
mapping the pulse of the newborn universe.

pockets of time push through black holes,
ordained to swallow the dark by a being
bathed in holiness.

the heavens are pinned into place on a
twinkling backdrop of fire, planet-making
material spread like a celestial blueprint.

“this is where my most beloved will live,” god
says, mouthless but firm, words dripping with
the first vestiges of life.

the angels crowd the first life form, shouting a collection of
“hosanna on the highest” and “glory, glory, glory,”
singing on wings the size of galaxies.

later, when the passage of time leads to
two-legged mammals, when humanity is breathed from dirt,
and then from rib, the angels are silent with awe.

god, jesus, the holy spirit, sees the world and it is good.
god, jesus, the holy spirit, sees humanity and it is good.
god, jesus, the holy spirit, sees you and it is good.