Having crowded once onto the threshold of mortality

And not been chosen

There is no freedom such as theirs

That have no beginning

The air itself is their memory

A domain they cannot inhabit

But from which they are never absent

What are you they say that simply exist

And the heavens and the earth bow to them

Looking up from their choices

Perishing

All day and all night

Everything that is mistaken worships them

Even the dead sing them an unending hymn