since
the soul first appeared—its torch blazing, its terror traipsing the skies—i
have with fascination, admiration, burning desire—to become oneness—with fever,
balance, and interior; to experience maps and mazes and rinsing marsh—like a
remote to earth, like a fairytale in memories, something appearing, remaining
aloof, so close—it must keep its differences. since the soul has rhythm,
cadence, prosody, it may fly to its station, it may mourn its inheritance, with
so much to give through transgression. the natural trespass of wisdom, invested
in decodifying elements, with needs to unveil the Great Curtain; the craft of
the soul, as sullen inquisitiveness, inching towards annihilation, in which the
becoming is eternity. in the dying the soul rises. in settlement the soul shall
perish. in rising the soul will part invisibility. seated with dignity. so eloquent
and sly. much is given to invoke the great miracle.
