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The existence of that these eyes cannot see,
shimmer, twinkle, sparkle or gleam
an illumination of the heart for centuries:
dances like a universal mosaic masterpiece.

The existence of that these hands cannot hold,
air, water, light and love that cajole
the moods of the human fold:
is an ambient of energy, pale and bold.

The existence of that this tongue cannot taste,
the sweetness of life seasoned and braise
the ingredients and elements all in place:
is a feast to savor each and every day.

The existence of that these ears cannot hear,
a shooting star, billowy cloud, or blooms flower
the sands of the hourglass that seem to jeer:
are all lessons of Self which are crystal clear.

The existence of that this nose cannot smell,
a redolent yesterday or tomorrow cannot expel
the ethereal scent wafting this earthly shell:
the intangible me, more than mortality can foretell.

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