My senses tell me little
of the heaven on this earth,
and so I am suspecting
not even second birth

will lead me to clay treasures–
or clay treasures make no sense,
or earth is an unseen place–
and yet my soul has worth.

The shape of what I cannot see,
the part that’s distinctly me,
on its own axis in a bigger sky;
please, confusing words of old, let me be.

I have no bad intent
and want the best for all.
The hidden heaven near me:
must it be such a puzzle?

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