Often I see it through a window,

A thing broken

Collapsing through the floor,

I think,

that is all I used to

know of god-

first hidden then

too far to touch.

I invented a spell

for the recognition

of myself by the holy:

    "Come here

      come close

      I can see you

      Hiding behind that chair,

      You're not a small child now,

      Crouched on all fours,

           Moody brat;

        You holy creature-

      Now you touch the earth,

      And the earth touches me,

      And I touch you".

Om, many pentagrams,

Protect my bones,

Without my flesh,

I have nothing to

     hold the

Compassion together.