I do not believe I am here: the light
Is everything and everywhere, mind
Parses them somewhere between,
Negation of all but the white
Above, of the infinite series of brightnesses
Converging through lines, below. A hum
Diverges from closing chords, far off:
Each operator passes into operation,
Analyzing effortlessly the endless back
Into comprehensive space -- in this place
Where is the thinker's will, itself,
Free consciousness excepting all
Its thought? So the phrasing
Swells, let it ripen into haze,
And who will say if it keeps, burns, rots?
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