We are figments in God's imagination.
And the precious perfection of his artistry.
My body, my mind subsist only in
that manifold and are not merely me.
We are figments in God's imagination.
This is the crux of my eternity.
All's known and cherished. Yet out of time,
unalterable, beyond contingency.
This poem's forever then, although not mine.
We are figments in God's imagination.