Sunday, September 28, 1997

Guardian Of The City

incensing the mind, one essence
imperfectly perfect
smell the attraction, the path
into neither heaven nor hell, who can know it
moving the wind, flowing with the flame eternal
love and affection, some hovering quiet brilliance
coming down, curling around
into our dwelling here, behind closed doors
just because, just because
you can
as the key calls, gates reverberate
like betzalel and oholiav
running and returning with the deep deep night
guiding tarrying pilgrams to the thin place
within the wall, rocking to the rhythm
playing on the stairs
in the dark leading like a line walking
descending and ascending
through the roofless unstable chamber
and winding passages peregrinating
into the heart of the mountain
into the inmost room
lit throughout with companions
and tables and chairs and books of letters
as we join together
you've been waiting for us
we hear

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