Mind me, soul, who nests so deep in sense,
lest monolithic quantums file the air,
bend me bows of light within my lense;
twinkle with thy eye in me, gardens fair.

Friend, enchrined with what in me aspires
tend thy feathers spread your wings,
then be for me an anvil for desires;
forge in me with all thy might
designs for me that I might need
signs, that might my life define.

Thus endowed with vaults that scale
out gold, things might be a bit at ease
as life unfolds.