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Seeing a jumble of rocks, he thought
That each came from a separate
Mountain. This, he thought, was
Magnificence, the sky violet
Over a towering range where
Lightning flashed and the deep
Rumbles of thunder and the water
Tumbling down a deep
Ravine and each flower was its own
God, each stamen and pistil,
The village filled with deities
And quartz and crystal.
Yaacov David Shulman