Passageway between a warm world of being
And a brilliant blue world of being aware,
The animals formerly known to themselves
As neither animals nor angels but souls
Have yet to come to terms with how right they were.
They have given birth, not to themselves, to selves
That spiral indolently, exquisitely
Above them, describing and offering thoughts
For the universe to think about itself,
Perpetual hosannas to holiness
While souls erode on the foreheads of golems.
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