Of the infinite number of ways
Three lines could come together
(If lines could think)
A perfect triangle would form
Once in that series
An instrument to be seized
The gods could really use
To unwind another world
They could feel how the heart
Would have to emerge first
Right out of a fiery circle
While it was still burning
Then plunged into cold water
Warmed and filled with light
And the pulse resume its yearning
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