Nothing has ever been, nor will be,
As precious as the arbitrary.
From minuscule votive offerings
In anoxic muds of crater lakes
To cloud-caressing cathedral gilt,
It's never what we need that matters
But what we need what we need to be,
To mete out justice, not just metal,
Just incorruptible. The gold dust
Of myth is the existence of myth.
Any myth, however fact-alloyed,
Will serve. People, not gods, are choosy.
Find any lovely thing you can't use
And tell divinity to take it.
No cavern, volcano, or sea bed
Will refuse you. Only your people
Must sanction gifts by acclamation.