So fragmented unspiritual
Yet lofty without aims,
These are perplexing games
We play with symbol and chagrin,
Now we have now at once unleashed
A meaningless machine,
Now we have now at once released
Machinery of means.

Making done of tasks,
More clarity when they are toppled,
A habit brick by brick to form,
Long roads to unknown places far.

The sky in pink and purple,
Diffusing into blue and all its multitudes,
Clouds assemble into ranks,
Tracing out an esoteric boardgame on the heavens,
Scattering orange to the pale.

Sorting through a jumbled mountain,
Making unjumbled piles my own,
And finding places for lasting things,
And finding exits for things to go,
Till the mountain is but simple hill,
And simple hill is but a mound,
And I've some mountains of my own,
Unjumbled mountains sorted now.