Know the senses for what they really are:
a single station on the dial's band,
in the night sky the pinprick of a star,
at the thundering beach, a grain of sand.
Know the senses for what they really are.
Imagination is another thing.
It makes of a hundred voices a single choir.
At God's lips it gets a secret briefing.
Worlds burn up in that expansive fire.
Know the senses for what they really are.