Through the Golden Bough, you enter wide opened mouth of the earth to the sub- sky, to the only end of darkness under a dull light of black suns
you touch oceans of shadows, beaches of lost fallen leaves, the Angelus Novus: he lets not look backwards the crossing people
overtaking the Father, enlightened by lights of future lives, you arrive just to the ivory door of wrong dreams. An interior, hidden mind spreads around the worlds
if eyes opened even for a flash, they could see how things are: rain's slow drops on a window pane.
Guido
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