What we seem to be, is a mere washing over,

Palimpsest traces on Eternity’s page

Surface dwellers are we


Teasing the view of matter and form

Held up to the light, just so, just right

There can be seen the shimmering dim lines

A timeless map of a formless land

Shangri-La?  Paradise?  Heaven?  New Jerusalem?

All of these and more

Yet on a scale

Where even these Divine abodes are pale

Dim lines of the true Glory