On the first level
I am the receptacle
In which we place
The bones of our dead.

Yes, I am tiered.

Second, I am a lull
Of rushing flowers
Blushing at your fingertips
Soft as bread.

Do you follow?

The third stone
Is entrenched in a river
Crack open my marrow
And you'll get a fearsome cataract.

I weary of this game.

Fourth is a violet gate
Guarding the womb of the earth
She sways in her strangeness
Hearing an elusive music.

I can't sleep for its beauty.

Fifth is a startling matrix.
The world plates before me
A dizzying plane of inky silence.
I spin the periwinkle threads.

Your steps are dragging, my dear.

Sixth is a slab of opaque glass.
On it is an elephant, alive since before.
I look him in his warm eye, and we know
The science of my clouds.

Soon, soon, we will be gone.

The seventh cathedral is built of anguish
Inside all is monochrome
Save for a scarlet teapot
Resting on the floor of your consciousness.

Death is just not being.