SING SOME THE PYLONS
The sensible form of ivory, the ancients knew it -
carved into an elephant or a cobra. Something both
fierce and delicate, like the light which springs
forth when the early morning comes, or the
lines on a very old person's face. We know we
are reading something, but not sure what.
Interpretation is a dream-like thing : thought
of in recollection, never really witnessed, and
forgotten as it fades. By such blindness, like
the faint lines on an ivory carving, do we
make our ways across the void.
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