Alexandria

Some consciousness was there
pure and insubstantial as
flame in a globe of glass –
essence of thought
infused, distilled, refined
from the beakers of a thousand spirits.

Speaking the silent language
of the secret, priestly tongues
amid the hoarded wisdom, a watcher,
a wonder, inscrutable through
blowing sand that tapestries
the sky, reflects
the approaching glow.

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