The corridors were made of speech,
So loud you could not hear their words,
But everything they said made sense:
They’d heard this life and spoke of death.
The grandest hall revealed its gifts:
It filled its floor with corn and gold;
Its mirrors split and reeled its light;
Its tables full; its serpents sleek.
The garden took you to its core.
It played its role, it played its year,
It sang its birds and wheeled its moths,
Then in its torchlight danced its night.
And when at last you ate and drank,
You were renewed, you gave up thanks.