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IT IS HARD TO IMAGINE THE SOUL WITHOUT HANDS, AND YET IT IS SO.
IT IS HARD TO IMAGINE THE SOUL WITHOUT A MOUTH, AND YET, THIS IS SO.
THERE ARE SOULS THAT PAUSE QUIETLY INSIDE THE BODY LIKE LITTLE CHILDREN ON CHAIRS.
THERE ARE SOULS THAT TWANG AND STUTTER, ONES THAT SHUDDER AS NERVES ON AIR.
WHEN THE SOUL FLIES, IT FLIES AS AN OWL IN DARKNESS, A STIR OF WHITE FEATHERS DESCENDING IN PITY UPON THE EARTH.
WHERE THE SOUL SWIMS, IT IS LIMBLESS, WITHIN A LAKE OF MANY GEMS.
WHEN WE COUNT THE BURNING STARS, THESE ARE THE STARS THAT CANNOT BE EXTINGUISHED, THEY THRIVE ON LIGHT, NOT AIR.
THE SOUL IS MOST BEAUTIFUL WITHOUT THE BODY, WHEN IT CANNOT BE COUNTED BEING HERE. |
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