Is it possible that mere words,
but ideas that bestir the spirit,
can transcend inherent limits,
and somehow come to intend
the numinous wonder of nature —
despite what is said, or not said,
about the ineffability of the Tao.
Could it also be that perchance,
upon some mystical occasions,
a unexpected exception is made,
and out of some wordless depths
of fertile silence and stillness,
a wormlike sentence is born,
and crawls across the page,
voraciously devouring the leaf,
whereupon it spins a lyrical cocoon,
emerging after a cryptic spell,
as if by divine grace or magic,
as an intricately transfigured
metamorphosed metaphor ...
an utterance taking wing,
that in a flight of imagining,
like Eros bewitched by Logos,
sings words to awaken by.
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