Holy Samurai

The unsaid spoke the words of names/ In the garden of perfect mirror symmetry/ O there, be thy apiaries, winged opals, O dragonflies...In the looking-glass ponds, faces of chrome, ye little voices of tranquility/ O wonder, do infant fingers point, to the gravity of the magnetar/ Eyes wide, buoyant whispers, gossamer on the breeze/ 'Tis an orchestra of daffodils/ Lava on a trampoline/ The games, the laughter, O thy paradise of Zen/ For they know everything that cannot be named...They were the Hadean eon/ They were the Eozoic dawn/ They are the children of neodymium

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