stores galore, shrines temples
with lines of latitude
that would make you faint,
scent spirals smells incredible
the abracadabra of a roadside saint,
sacred city we can dream you
horizon edged in celestial paint
swastika foundations
finely tuned to considerations
of solar/lunar perambulations
lie buried deep beneath,
the invocatory chant
of countless incantations
is destiny gone beyond
any sensible configuration
to grace your station as
sacred space of illumination
- from Excavations Around the Sun
