You see every brick, you see the traces
Of the men who brought the bricks, of the men Who laid them, of the men who paid for them, You see the clay and shale flaking when A forest once stood here, your senses Sense what cannot be sensed, they are Brilliant, they trace the invisible tale, The celebration, the memoir Of the source of the source. Antibodies Run through your veins, enzymes Until you tingle, your feet feel The layers of the earth, all times Are merely a map, until You are the locus of the planet, Until you are the seed of the seed, The red that suffuses the pomegranate.
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Yaacov David Shulman
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