Where the world Unravels from its swaddling bands of Doing. Seeking air from underneath The lines of cable, Internet and motorway. While string of inter-nodal street lights Continue a resistance to the healing dark. Thus mummified, we're doomed to Roam the surface of the world, Noisily, in pain, to no true purpose.
Harmony emerges with each sunrise, Heard in birdsong, and the breathing earth.
Maybe, while it applies yet further binding, wondering how anyone can Think there is a God.