Where angels go to die
This place,
this infinitely finite place,
where branches split the clouds
when they spin.
This place,
where the sky is studded with crystals
of dreams...
This place,
where the white melts the blue
and the cold melts the flowers,
where
among roses
a child runs
arms wide open
towards God.
This place,
where God is not what He is,
this place,
a replica of chaos,
the underworld of angels,
the mist of the Heavens
concealed by apparent
fulfillment.
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