And I am in this flesh bag
Like a dream of mist
As the world comes and goes
And itself is neither
But I sigh in the grasses
Like a bread or like a wheel
I become a bird in the trees
And rouse my doubt in it
There is a truer story
That has no pages
It is not a bright stone
It is like pure space
And I can hear it laughing
In a salamander eternity
be universal 