No-man kneads us again out of Earth and Loam,no-man spirits our Dust.
No-man.
Praise to you,
No-man.
For love of youwe will flower.
Movingtowards you.
A Nothingwe were, we are, we shallbe still, flowering:the Nothing-,
No-man’s-rose.
Withour Pistil soul-bright,our Stamen heaven-torn,our Corolla redwith the Violet-Word that we sangover,
O overthe thorn.
