moving there,
among the mists of mind and sight,
He has mixed the fine light with the bright
and treaded shores of spider webs.

dancing there,
above the whorl of finger and note,
( He covered all with the sea-dust of silence
mote merged with mote—
and crept that rhythm into dawn
and waterfalls).

laughing there,
all through the canyons of tongue and touch
He placed all life and all of space
in a river of such

and set mad fools to sing
of things they do not know
that are as much as much