from the desert of the real

O beauteous failure of timeless thought,
and that sheds such light upon the face!
We are but atoms across a cosmic plane strewn,
blinking like the stars under heaven’s eye!
There are such characters here travailing,
in this vast and golden desert of the real—
They smile through their parched throats,
across the sands, run with their calloused toes—
That would spark against the hidden rocks
hopeful searching for provision and fruition!
But their feet pass through the stolid ground
and their reaching hands through every wall!
Until they find their open doors made wide
and enter into their story unending.

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