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There is no new thing in God's sight.
(The day, the moon, are new to us.)
Play a new song to the Lord,
Glass full enough to pass along
Without a spill.
Such ink made sky black,
Kissed stars through pinholes, caught
Their night tears in a jar, each drop an ocean.
"Let be there was"—the deep mind stamped
A pattern on the nothing of before
What was to be stood forth:
When time, one chord, struck there
To now. Whatever
Is a gift from elsewhere.
Inspiration comes unbidden.
At what's inside our nature.
Truth stays hidden, feeds upon
Some try to steal
A march on death, drown fear in senses.
Some chosen can believe the soul is real.