Head without a will of its own,
Blindfolded and bandaged eyes
As though returning from war;
This orb we stroke with our mind,
This round book of beginnings,
This sphere we kiss like the earth,
This earth flying into eternity;
A gift passed one to another,
Headed like a thought
That is thought by a friend
At the instant of the thought;
This world that with love
Wins the game it loses,
That is discovered by a child
Amid the rubble of chaos
In the stadium of joy-for-itself.
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