Incarnatus est all feelings here felt
the winsome tale endless within, without. Endless the amount of corpuscled wings availing skies for traveling sings.
Or bug feelers too, infinitely felt
beneath the countless clouds without doubt this the cosmos full of things in vast display and worlds’ themselves everlasting array like raindrops on seas of silicon shores unending as any globe’s hingy doors
and windowed homes where all can see stark all of human doing’s panoply thrall.
Along with weather, day orbs and their light with thoughts of what will rises out of night be countless galactic suns, rock and dust to tempt all thought by thoroughgoing lust to go there, be there, to see at last if
there be other gods too, along with us who name vast clusters by number, stars for pet dogs while day to day dancing a waltz through mistladen unlimbered cosmic fog.
