When Émile Zola died, Cézanne howled to the moon;
But Cézanne, he knew the truth:
He saw, in his eyes, that life could not die;
In his early work he displayed this truth.
But he was corrupted by Camille Pissaro,
And his palette was lightened to boot.
Yet there still remained, on his most turbulent days,
Everlasting darkness that strained,
Winding its blackening roots.

God has drawn another Line.
It is the end at the beginning—
Of course, it was not commissioned to be one.
It did not start as one,
But has always been whole.
It was not drawn by a single hand;
It was drawn by many.

The Line, conceived to be darker than shadow,
Had subconsciously been crossed and over-wrought.
So we simply let it be;
Simply kept it separate— separate.

Guidance from God:
"Go now, go now, and connect the lines.
Go now, go now, and make contact with Ditko,
He who once dwelled within the highrises."