Woven through the ancients, the cedar and the oak

A terrifying beauty I dare not here evoke

Whose thread proceeds, embodied in the eye

And leaps from there to find the distant sky

And back to Earth, where wings are wrought and lifted

And thus to mortal agency, is gifted

A path alive, beyond the waves of waters

The seven mothers, with their seven daughters

And lands at last in human eyes and hands

Then raises mountains high above the lands

And carves the canyons out from baleful ages

With the excellence of children and of sages

A secret’s perfect wreckage finds the form

Of human minds enraptured in the storm