(i, who have died, making this)
   looks at the mirror
     of this
   and sees clearly
       tastes freely
       hears soundly
       opens delicately

    a god in form.

    now the windows of my
     soul are open
    now the doors of my
     heart are unlocked
    now the roads of my
     sinews undone
    now the home of my
     laughter loose in
      the wilding air

(i, who have lived, ending this)

    still sees a god
    in the many haloed hours
    i am truer than any water
    sloshing against the blue
    dream of shores,
  
    now my feet tread softly
     the illimitable earth
    now my hands rest like
     children from a day's frolic
    now my heart is wan as
  a seraph's musing is sepulchered.
     now my mind sprawls endlessly
    amongst cathedrals sleeping
     immensely in the night

(i, becoming a god,
    in believing and denying this)