those nearest to the breath

and from the excellence which gives language
we have “the illusion of what we can see” (and can’t)
so beautifully put to make us so—
and the metaphysicians become meta-physicists out of their yearning to understand and heal,
and the poets are the crowned by their people
or they were the hidden Angels
by our sides, and made of light;
“for, indeed they aren’t blinded, the sights;
rather, blinded are the turnings
which are within the chests” (22:46)
so won’t you, travel the realms with them handing them your eyes
and tell us of everything that you hear


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